


A Hell of Our Own Making

by PhiladelphiaBurke



Category: The House with a Clock in its Walls (2018)
Genre: AU, Demon Sex, Demons, F/M, I basically rewrote the ending of the movie, Inspired by Ligotti Lovecraft and Bellairs, Jonathan is bi and closeted, LOTS of Selena Backstory, Lewis is more proactive, M/M, Melodrama, Mention of WWII, Mention of the Holocaust, More backstory for everyone, Shapeshifting, Some elements of the book, Transformation, Weird Humor, angst for all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:35:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 18
Words: 29,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23178589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhiladelphiaBurke/pseuds/PhiladelphiaBurke
Summary: If you're gonna save the world...or destroy it...you better have a damn good reason.  Let's find out. I wanted to explore the relationships of the adult characters more and provide some possible backstory.
Relationships: Florence Zimmermann/Isaac Izard, Florence and Jonathan Friendship, Isaac Izard/Selena Izard, Jonathan Barnavelt/Isaac Izard
Comments: 8
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't endorse murder or any of the awful things that occur in this story. Selena’s views on religion and philosophy do not reflect my own. But we know barely anything about her, so I tried to come up with a backstory that wasn't too cliche.  
> I apologize for info dumping.  
> Also, I tried to rewrite Lewis, our protagonist, to be more active and less passive, and I know this stuff is really over the top. It's intentional. Stuff to remember:  
> I have tried my best to be historically accurate and respectful regarding all mention of WWII and the Holocaust. This is a sensitive topic and so I have not gone into detail, so as not to trivialize this very serious subject or use it for cheap emotion. The little girl who appears, Rosina, is based on my own grandmother (who is the age she would have been at that time in real life) and something that happened to her in her childhood, so this is dedicated to her.  
> These are all the details we get about the gaps I tried to fill in, based on what Mrs. Zimmerman tells Lewis.  
> • On Jonathan and Isaac: "They did everything together....Isaac was an orphan, and Jonathan, a runaway.  
> • On Isaac and Selena: "And he found himself a witch… so spiteful and mean that he married her."  
> • Isaac hides the location of his secret workshop in one of his mechanical dolls/automatons, so they are obviously important to him.  
> • When we finally learn that Mrs. Hanchett is really Selena, she says: "Mrs. Hanchett was a lovely woman, until I killed her and took her place." Isaac says "My wife has quite a talent for disguises," and Selena responds affectionately and says "I learned from the best." Let's connect those dots.  
> • Isaac, about Lewis: ‘An orphan who loves Captain Midnight? Warms my ancient heart.” Isaac used a code from the show to hide the clock and he mentions he likes the show; I felt it should be explained.  
> • Isaac offers to save Lewis and Selena said she liked being his mom. I wondered why that was.  
> Just some stuff to keep in mind. Those are the dots I tried to connect.

_Prelude:_

_Movement 1- Oh, What a Lonely Boy_

When people asked Jonathan where he was from, he said Isaac had just pulled him out of a hat one day. That joke always got a big laugh. But Jonathan never gave a real answer, because he knew he could never go home.

He couldn’t go back to agricultural college and be a farmer like his father had wanted. Throughout his childhood, Jonathan had gone to the carnivals that visited their town, and knew he wanted to perform. There, he saw more than stage magicians- there were (phony) spiritualists and (even more fraudulent) psychics, as well as escape artists. He wanted to learn it all, and when he wasn’t hanging around a carnival, he read every book on these subjects he could fiind. His younger sister Rachel gladly volunteered to be his first assistant. His first escape attempt (from a chained-up mailbag) caused him to bump into Rachel. She fell and hit her head, resulting in a concussion. Jonathan felt terrible about hurting Rachel, so he decided against escapology and chose to focus on becoming a magician.

It wasn’t just his magic his father had disapproved of. His father had disowned him because of another interest, one that Rachel had promised to keep a secret. She’d sworn she hadn’t meant to tell their parents, but the truth came out anyway. When Jonathan was 18, Rachel saw him in the barn, kissing one of his male friends from school. She was so shocked she cried out, and their father burst in to see what was the matter. Jonathan tried to lie, but Rachel reported everything she had seen. Though Jonathan was adamant that he also liked girls, this was more than his parents were willing to tolerate. When they told him to leave home, he struck out on his own and gave his studies all he had.

According to the old guard, you had to be born with a certain knack for ‘real magic’, but theoretically, anyone whose mind was open to the magical arts could perform spells. Jonathan always believed that it was the human heart and mind that unlocked the power, not some indefinable ‘knack’. All he knew about that ‘knack’ was that everyone in the United Magician’s Society of America seemed to think Isaac had it, and that Barnavelt kid with the chubby face had no knack at all. Jonathan wondered if people felt that way because it was Isaac who always wore a tuxedo onstage, and not him.

Movement 2: _Where Nothing’s Ever Really As It Seems_

Isaac Izard got a lot of sneers for his strange name, but he was too proud to change it. It was the only thing he had left of his family- both his parents had died in a car accident when he was five, and he’d inherited their entire fortune. His father had owned property throughout the state of Michigan, and his mother had come from a wealthy manufacturing family in Canada. Isaac was raised in their big old house in New Zebedee, and became the ward of their lawyer, Mr. Antony. Mr. Antony hired a strict governess to homeschool Isaac, and she did her best to educate him and keep him well-behaved. But Isaac was always curious, and soon he found a closet where some old books of his parents’ on stage magic, witchcraft, and Christian and Pagan rituals. Despite his governess’s vigilance, Isaac was soon reading the hidden books and experimenting with simple spells whenever he had a free moment. Of course, his guardians tried to discourage him from such things. But growing up without a family, or even friends his own age, Isaac was desperate to move past his loneliness and craft an exciting identity for himself. At age 17, he hopped on a cross-country train and began the process of becoming a stage magician. He had a tremendous natural talent and control for magic, but to stand out from the crowd, he decided to appeal to the darker, more avant-garde spirit that was thriving in the 1920s arts scene.

In 1928, Isaac was 28 years old and known as the “Master of the Dark Arts.” Although he did not wear that name long, he wore it well. He was living his dream of becoming an illusionist, but also imbuing his stage magic with some real, applied magical ability. This mixing was frowned upon by the community of real magic users, as was the theme of his act. Isaac’s routine featured him playing an idealized but sinister version of himself: a rakish adventurer got his magical powers from a deal with the devil. Isaac would maintain that he pretended to be a dark magician just to stand out from other illusionists. But as the saying goes: “Play the part, and you shall become.”

Another tired saying that applied to the act was “sex sells,” although everything risque was implied rather than shown. The ‘mythos’ of the act stated that Isaac’s satanic powers included the ability to seduce any woman. This made young women more than a little curious to volunteer as his assistants- and some of them weren’t just interested in the act, but also in the man behind it. He would have three or four young women assisting him at once, and changed the roster for each tour.

One very memorable routine involved an actress named Jacqueline, who had trained as a diver and could hold her breath for long periods. She was brought onstage in a casket, wearing a nightgown that left little to the imagination. Isaac would hold a mirror up to the ‘corpse’s’ lips to show that she was not breathing. From there, Isaac ‘revived’ her using what he told the audience was ‘tantric’ magic (needless to say, this was not the case) and she came back to life in a state of vocal arousal. She rose in her scanty nightgown to perform what Isaac described (to the shocked censors from Boston) as ‘modern dance.’ Description didn’t matter- the crowd ate it up.

Only Jacqueline could perform that particular illusion, and when she left to continue her diving career, Isaac was sorry to see her go. But he had other tricks that his eager volunteers helped him with, such as 'psychic surgery’: where he drew a pentagram in blood on a young lady's bare back. The long silver knife he used only hovered above her, and never touched her skin. He controlled the flow of the blood with his magic. Then he would take a handkerchief out of his pocket, and wipe away one corner to show that there was no wound underneath the blood. This was another very popular trick, especially when someone from the audience was allowed to examine the blood- on the girl's hand, drawn on when she was fully clothed. It was actually synthetic blood, but even if the audience had been able to tell, they would have been too hooked to care.

The United Magicians of America didn’t like the message his act was sending. It was making people suspicious that all stage magicians had ties to evil, Satanic magic. The Society was also worried that if the authorities investigated the world of magic too much, they might find out that not all stage magic was make-believe. Isaac had applied to the Society for membership, and was invited to defend himself to the official board of Magicians- who mopped the floor with him. "Your act is immoral,” Edmund Gravel, the Board president at the time, told him. “It glorifies Satan worship, blasphemy, and…decadence." 

“I really didn’t mean to,” Isaac protested. “I’ve never used a real black spell in the act. I’ve never even touched one of those books...”

The pictures of him _in flagrante delicto_ with several of his assistants, however, did not help his case. Isaac’s application was roundly denied, and he was declared persona non grata at all the Society’s future events.

Jonathan was traveling with a carnival that had stopped in Baton Rouge, when he saw that Isaac’s act was playing in New Orleans. Jonathan had been reading up on the Society’s feud with Isaac, so he decided to take in a show and see what the fuss was about. After all, he was hoping to join the Society himself one day, so maybe he could catch Isaac doing something shifty and win the Society’s approval.

Jonathan watched the show and slipped out the side door before the curtain call. He felt he had to get away, since he was embarrassed about being as hooked as the rest of the audience. It wasn’t just the performance that caught his eye. Jonathan had admired one or two of the pretty young ladies onstage- but like most of the women in attendance, he was fascinated with Isaac. He’d seen Isaac’s photo before, but not the way Isaac commanded the stage. He knew it was silly of him to be blushing over this man, the way his sister had blushed over Rudolph Valentino. And even talking to Isaac would be career suicide! Jonathan knew he should just forget these notions and move on. But that night, Jonathan dreamed of Isaac: not just of Isaac teaching him all his secrets, but of Isaac kissing him and touching him, just as he had done with his assistants. He woke up in a state of total embarrassment, with the memory of phantom hands caressing him. Somehow, he had to talk to Isaac Izard….if only to see what he was really like.

They did hit it off right away, but Isaac saw Jonathan as a younger brother and nothing more. Jonathan did his best to keep his feelings to himself, but they were eager to collaborate. They knew that if they were going to perform together, they would need to come up with a different style that suited them both.

It was Jonathan who hit upon the idea of debunking- exposing people who claimed to be magicians and were operating outside the Society and helping to preserve the reputation of certain real magicians. That way, he and Isaac could get into the Society’s good graces and Jonathan could work on refining his skill. And it worked- although people still thought Jonathan’s talent was nothing special, they grew to like Isaac’s professionalism and showmanship. He truly seemed to be working in their best interests. In turn, he convinced them to accept Jonathan- once they ‘stopped clutching their pearls,’ as Jonathan was fond of saying. Meanwhile, the Society could go on with its façade of being a social club for eccentrics.


	2. Paris

_Chapter 1_

Paris, 1931

Every magician in the world wanted to meet Florence H. Zimmermann.

Anyone who had been named “Most Promising Freshman” by the University of Gottingen’s underground Magic Studies department was one to watch- especially the first woman to hold the title, and one who was only 16 when she entered college. She had been born in Germany, but the United Magicians of America knew her talent and support would be great assets to them. Now, she had made good on her early promise and was completing her dissertation in Paris. With any luck, she would soon earn her doctorate of Magical Arts.

Once they’d met Florence, men and women alike couldn’t decide if they wanted to duel her, romance her, expose her as a fraud, or befriend her.

Two people who were very eager to meet her were our old friends, Jonathan and Isaac. They were building their double act and trying to shed their reputations: Isaac’s as a dangerous poseur who endorsed black magic, and Jonathan’s as a no-talent hick, riding on Isaac’s coattails. Slowly but surely, they had made some headway in gaining respect through their ‘debunking’ efforts, but Jonathan in particular had a long way to go toward proving himself. 

When Florence made her debut as an officially accredited magician, the United Magicians Society of America decided to throw a party in her honor. It would be held in Paris, where she was beginning her studies for her doctorate. The location would be the Parisian townhouse of the official President of the New York Magician’s Society, Byron Stonehearst. Jonathan and Isaac were spending some time performing in Paris on the Board’s behalf, trying to get back their goodwill.

Byron Stonehearst, being the host and the East Coast Ambassador for the United Magicians of America, was naturally the master of ceremonies. His grandstanding personality and many connections had taken him very far. Jonathan couldn't stand him, ever since he’d taken to calling Jonathan ‘fake-breaker’ as a sort of nickname. Isaac looked at Byron the way someone might look at nasty-tasting medicine: a necessary unpleasantness. Isaac insisted they both had to be on their best behavior around Byron- so Jonathan hadn’t experimented as much as he’d wanted to with his magic, and Isaac hadn’t even held hands with a female member of the Society. They both flinched a little when Byron entered.

Over his pinstriped suit, Byron had on the dark furry coat he seemed to wear everywhere, which he claimed was from a black bear he'd killed. As the story went, he had taken on the bear's strength by eating its meat, and a thick black beard had sprouted on his white face overnight. In the several years they'd known Byron, Isaac and Jonathan had each heard this story about twenty times. As he led Florence in, they could hear him say "Did I tell you about the bear I got this coat from?" Jonathan nudged Isaac and they both sighed. 

"Look at that beard," Jonathan said. "I think he’s trying to look like Hemingway.”

Isaac stared at him. "Is that why you tried to grow a beard a while back? I think he's ruined the whole idea of them." 

"So...you think I can't carry it off? Shouldn’t try again?” 

"We don't need to talk about this now," Isaac said wearily. “He might actually be getting to something interesting, so let’s listen.”

“Our lovely guest of honor tells me that what she was looking forward to most, was- shockingly- NOT dancing with me!” Byron said. Everyone laughed- no one harder than Byron himself. Florence seemed to be laughing at him rather than with him, but Byron didn’t notice. He gestured to her and said: “Tell them what you told me, Florence.”

“Let’s have a real wizard’s duel!” she said.

“You heard the lady! Who dares to test their skill?" Byron laughed, holding up Florence’s arm as if she was a champion boxer in a slinky purple gown.

"I do!" Jonathan cried. This was his chance to prove he was more than a ‘fake-breaker’, a real warlock. Everyone at the party was shocked that Jonathan had volunteered. Male on male duels and female on female ones were demonstrations of skill, one-upmanship. But in magical culture, a man would show interest in a woman by dueling her or volunteering her to duel someone else. Jonathan had done so in the past with a former girlfriend and a few female acquaintances, so the crowd thought he was flirting with Florence. Quite a few men (and secretly, several women) were affronted, thinking they would be much more worthy opponents for her.

Isaac looked at Jonathan in surprise.

“I’m not making a play for her,” Jonathan said quickly. “If I beat her, the crowd will love it. I’ll explain it to her after I win.”

"You mean _if_ you win. No one’s going to allow me to bail you out of this. I hope you know what you're doing," Isaac whispered. 

Jonathan laughed, then replied: "Do I ever?" He walked right up to Florence and announced, pointing dramatically: “I challenge you, Mademoiselle!”

"I’ve heard about you," Florence said, laughing. "Trying to see if I'm a fake?" 

"No, no. Friendly competition, that’s all,” Jonathan said.

It was traditional to kiss a female opponent’s hand before a duel, but Florence seemed to realize that wasn’t what Jonathan wanted. To his relief, she said:

"Let's shake on it.” She held out her hand and her bracelet uncoiled to snap at Jonathan- it was a little snake, the color of white amber. He drew his hand back in mild surprise, then tapped the snake on its head. "It's real! Not a shade," he said, and the crowd applauded. 

"Of course you are," Florence cooed to her snake. "Take a bow, Mademoiselle Sand." The little snake reared up and bowed its head to even greater applause. Then, it coiled back around her wrist and turned into a bracelet again. "Shake for real this time?" she asked. 

Jonathan held out his hand and they shook- then his hand came off, twitching with viscera. Florence laughed as she shook the specter of a hand, saying "That's a well-done shade." There was dutiful applause, but someone said loudly:

"We don't want Marx Brothers stuff, Jonathan." 

His face burned. He couldn’t give into their goading. That’s what Isaac had always taught him, and even Rachel. “Just ignore them,” she used to say when he was being made fun of at school for being ‘weird’, ‘effeminate’, or any number of things. “They’ll get bored and stop.” How could it be that his sister was younger, shyer, and so much wiser than him? He really missed her.

“No more shades! Give us something real!” someone else cried.

“I can do that!” Florence replied. She hiked up her evening gown to her thigh- being careful not to reveal more than a glimpse of her garter, where she had tucked her wand. There were some appreciative wolf-whistles and shouts from the crowd, which Florence shrugged off. Jonathan, however, looked mortified- and more than a little annoyed when he saw that Isaac was watching Florence very closely. 

"Show us _your_ garters, Barnavelt," someone else said mockingly.

"All right, that's enough," Isaac said. "You wanted to see a duel, so let's watch." The crowd considered this, considered Isaac, and quieted. Jonathan and Florence aimed their wands and began. They started off slowly. Jonathan plucked the image of the moon out of the sky and floated it in the punchbowl, leaving Florence to use it as a volleyball. They batted the ball around for a while, until Jonathan floated it into a lamp to harness the electricity.

Jonathan threw the shade of the moon, now charged with orange energy, at Florence’s wand. His aim was off, so the bolt of energy hit Byron and brought his fur coat to life. Soon, Byron was engulfed in a swarm of live, very annoyed beavers; the crowd was shouting; and Jonathan and Florence were falling all over each other to save him. Byron kept insisting he was fine- even as he screamed in pain and bite marks appeared all over his face. Florence waited for Byron to face front, then was able to zap with her wand just in time. Only the coat was left. She addressed the agitated crowd and said: “Well, it’s a warm night. I guess he was trying to tell Byron there was no need for that coat.” Everyone applauded and laughed. That joke might not have been her best, but Florence was undoubtedly the winner of the duel. Jonathan shuffled into the crowd, hoping no one would notice him.

“Come on now, buck up,” Isaac said, taking Jonathan aside. 

“I just thought that a throw might impress them,” Jonathan muttered.

“I know, energy is usually your strong point. But we’ll work on it,” his friend said. “I’d better go check on Byron.”

Jonathan could see that Isaac was looking at Florence, not Bryon. He let Isaac go on his way.

“Is Byron all right?” Isaac asked. He had a feeling it would take more than that to keep a headstrong fellow like Stonehearst down, but it was polite to ask.

“Him? He’ll be fine. Hope your friend’s all right,” Florence said.

"I hope you didn't go easy on him," Isaac said. 

Florence winked at him. "Mr. Izard, I never go easy on anyone." 

"Please, call me Isaac." 

Florence beamed and leaned her body toward his ever so slightly. "Of course, Isaac. And you call me Florence. Did you want to try and duel me? I warn you, you better keep one foot on the ground at all times. Or at least buy me dinner afterward.” It was pretty clear she wasn’t talking about magic.

"Well, you certainly get right to the point. I was just hoping to talk with you. May I get you another glass of champagne?" 

"No, thank you. Let's just go out on the terrace, we can talk there. You know, I saw you and your partner in a nickelodeon once." 

"Oh, that. I didn't like the clip they used," Isaac said, holding the door to the terrace open for her. "We performed a few of our original creations that day, but the girl in the box ran for a shorter amount of time. That’s an old routine.” He shut the door behind them as they continued to talk shop, but everyone at the party could sense that wouldn’t last long.

“It’s certainly different from your solo act. There’s not too much footage of that around,” she said, winking.

Isaac nudged his glasses with his finger, shifting them on his nose, which he always did when he had to think on his feet. Florence seemed to be one step ahead of him, and not as easily impressed as his assistants. He said: “Well, you know, a lot of people didn’t approve. I’ve moved on since then- which is why I’m allowed to show my face here.”

“I’m dying to know how you shocked this crowd,” she said in a mock whisper. “Your story’s bound to be lot more interesting than their petty bickering.”

Isaac laughed knowingly. “It was really all just a gimmick. I never used any real names or evil symbols, I just tweaked things here and there so they’d sound ominous enough. Everything was above board: all the ‘manifestations’ and tricks like cutting off heads were just shades. Everything else was suggestion. But they said I was giving people like us a bad name, playing into a stereotype. So I cast off that identity and started over- I guess I thought I’d grow into it.”

“Things never turn out as we expect. Seems like yesterday thought I’d be writing my dissertation on Shakespeare, not magic.”

He set his drink down on the balcony. “I’d be curious to hear your thoughts on either subject. You’d write about _Macbeth_ , perhaps?”

She nudged him, happy to be teased. “I’m sure I would have a lot to say on that one. But as for my dissertation, I don’t want to give too much away while I’m still in the research stage. So, do you have any film of your old act?”

“It was…destroyed. I have saved a few bits of publicity material here and there, and customized my old props to fit the new act.”

“So you don’t actually consort with demons.”

“No. I mean, my family’s lawyer isn’t too pleasant, but he doesn’t count.”

Florence grinned. “You don’t revive the dead and torture young women to…how did that one report the Society made you put it… ‘satisfy your sadistic urges?’”

“No,” he said, laughing. “Nothing of the kind.” He quickly looked away, unsure if he should say what came into his head. He decided to take a chance and said, smiling wickedly: “I’m a gentleman. I brought you out here so we could think pure thoughts, and make love through a sheet with a hole in it.”

Florence hooted in laughter. “You _are_ fun,” she said. “Don’t tell Byron or he’ll be jealous. But tell me- did you really invite me out here because I beat your friend? Is he upset?”

"I admit it, I just wanted to get to know you. Nothing to do with Jonathan. And no demons, no sheets.”

She shook her head, but not in a mean-spirited way. " Wanted to ‘get to know me,’ you said? Never heard that before.”

She was different, not like the girls who had waited at the stage door for him. Not that he looked down on them- the runs in their stockings had come from his own hands, after all. But Florence was in control- she didn’t have to solicit attention from anyone and wasn’t looking for it. And it was the conversation they’d shared that had impressed her, not his showmanship. Could he keep this going? He forged ahead and unpinned the dark red rosebud from his lapel. He looked into Florence's eyes as he pressed the flower to his lips and gave it a gentle kiss. Instantly, the flower's petals opened and it changed from a rose to a vivid purple orchid in full bloom. 

"For you," he said, handing it to her with the pin still on it. 

Florence smiled, lightly brushing the flower with her finger. "Oh, that is lovely. Thank you." But somehow, Isaac thought, she deserved more than a simple trick, one she could probably perform with ease. They had talked as equals, and it was clear she deserved her praise as a practitioner. Even the way she saved Jonathan’s face in front of the crowd had been elegant. He didn’t know how he could find the words to tell her all these things without sounding odd, or desperate.

"No one else was able to guess my exact favorite shade of purple," she said, and proudly pinned it to her breast. She looked him up and down. "Master of the Dark Arts, that’s what they called you. You're nothing like that at all. I’d like to get to know you better." 

"Why don’t you start now?" he whispered. He wrapped his arms around Florence and kissed her. To his happiness, the kiss was eagerly returned. 

Jonathan had seen them walk out on the terrace, and was left alone at the bar with his drink. He felt certain everyone was staring at him, laughing at his defeat by the brightest star of the party. Now his one real friend had charmed that same girl, and would probably be going home with her. 

"Isn't this a kick in the pants," he muttered, taking another swig of whiskey.

"Well, hello, Jonathan," said a petite girl with wavy blonde hair, clad in a ruffled green dress. She snapped her fingers and a flame appeared at her fingertips. “Light your pipe?”

"Hello, Sadie," Jonathan said flatly. "That trick was cute a year ago. Now it’s getting old. What do you want?" 

"You never did take my advice, did you?" said Sadie. She puckered her gleaming pink lips and blew out her fingers. "You need to go back to the basics and work on manifestation, not form. Style over substance doesn’t cut it." 

"Yes, I remember you giving me that lecture," Jonathan said, rolling his eyes. "You’re one to talk. Florence probably learned that fingersnap bit while she was still in pigtails.”

"Well, you could learn a thing or two from your partner," she said jerking her thumb over to the terrace. "He’s got style _and_ substance." 

Jonathan looked out the window and saw Isaac kissing Florence- not just a peck on the cheek, but a full, lips-parted, woman’s-head-tilted-back kiss, right out of a schmaltzy movie. They were clearly dead to the outside world. Jonathan tried to put on his best poker face- but he couldn’t help it. He frowned.

“You should have tried to hit her from behind,” Sadie said, smiling lewdly. 

“The last thing I need is another reason for people to hate me.” Hitting someone in a duel while their back was turned was considered a very serious taboo among magic users.

Sadie laughed. “Don’t be sore, Jonathan, you know I’m pulling your leg. Why don’t you come back to my hotel-“

“No,” he said, slamming his drink down on the bar. “I was just leaving.”


	3. Princely Toys

As they got better acquainted, Florence told Isaac all about her magical doctorate in the study of amulets and other magically imbued objects.   
When he mentioned that he’d like to read her studies sometime, she smiled oddly at him. “I’d appreciate your perspective, since I’ve been meaning to ask you about your wand. Or lack of one.” They both knew sometimes magic users without wands had another object to conduct power, the way a wire would conduct electricity. “It’s your glasses, am I right?”   
He nodded and tapped them with his finger. “I used to have a wand, but I incorporated the metal into these. It also stops people from slapping me in the face- they say you should never hit a man with glasses.”   
“I would just make a set of iron bifocals and clock you with them,” Florence said, playfully squeezing his hand. “Or do you just use Jonathan as a human shield? Is that why you keep him around?”   
He chuckled. “You found me out.”   
“You keep asking about my thesis,” she said. “I take it you have some interesting specimens at home?”   
“I collect things, always have,” he said offhandedly. “Many of uncertain origin, so I don’t know if there’s magic in them. But some of them I have imbued, so they can run by themselves. You might like to study them.”  
“They run by themselves?”   
“I collect automatons.” He explained that many of them would not have been able to function properly without magic, since they were old, fragile, and had parts that were difficult to replace. Some, Isaac had restored and rebuilt himself.   
“I’ve been sending them back to the house - I don’t want anything to happen to them.” He stopped. “Would you like to see them? I can show you a projection of the house.”   
“Oh yes,” she said, brightening. “If you won’t mind me bringing my hot chocolate along.” Soon, they were in a house that both of them would come to know all too well, or a good imitation of one.   
“This is a good projection,” she said. “You just use it to check on your collection, that’s all?”   
He smiled sheepishly. “Well, I guess I think of myself as looking after them. I know that sounds...”  
“Peculiar?” Florence wiggled her eyebrows at him with a mock-questioning expression. “Weird? Creepy, even?”   
He laughed softly. “People have said so, yes. And if you said the same thing, I wouldn’t blame you.”   
“Oh, hush,” she replied, patting his hand. “I’d be the last person to do that.”   
“And you really want to see my collection?”   
She smiled and nodded, and he took her over to the first shelf.  
She had never seen so many mechanical toys in one place: there were dolls, animals, and a whole rainbow of colored clowns. There were clocks of all shapes and sizes decorated with little figures, perfect in every detail; birds in cages and on perches.   
"It's amazing! Why did you start collecting them?"   
"There was one in my family- my father had it when he was a boy. This one here.” It was a stereotypical-looking wizard, with a conical hat and white beard. “I can't remember a time when I wasn't fascinated with it. When I was young, I was alone so often...I used to talk to him, he was a real friend to me. I had no one else to tell my secrets to. He may have inspired my calling, although I’m sure you guessed that.”   
Florence reached over and took his hand in hers. "They're beautiful," she said softly.   
"I have a few that are very unusual," he said. "I think you would like those the best." This being a projection, Isaac could not take the figures down from their shelves and wind them, but he could show Florence his memories of how they worked. He showed her several different ones, then brought her over to a large box with a purple curtain in front like a little theater. When he pointed, the curtains parted to reveal a reclining figure on a golden chaise lounge. The figure was a voluptuous woman in a filmy red gown, with curly dark hair and wide, staring eyes. Her look of terror, Florence guessed, came from he large silver snake that sat on her chest. A little plaque on the wall behind the figure read: "The Death of Cleopatra." The figure's chest rose and fell, and the snake's head dove to bite her over and over again.  
Florence shuddered, but there was a huge grin on her face. "She's my absolute favorite. Thank you."   
"I know you have a dark sense of humor," he said. "And you love snakes."   
"Yours is a bit dark too," she said, winking. "Was this a suggestion? Are you and Byron going to fight over me? You want Madame Sand to bite me?"   
A look of horror crossed his face. He reached out and grabbed her hands. Quickly, as if he were trying to cast an emergency spell, he said: "Please don't joke about anything like that happening to you. If you were taken from me, I don't know what I would do."   
Florence tried to gently pull away and remain calm. She knew that Isaac had lost his parents to illness when he was very young, but she'd never seen him like this. They hadn't even been seeing each other that long- how could he say he "wouldn't know what to do"? "It's all right," she said evenly. "It was just a joke. I'm sorry if it was a stupid one..." He still looked haunted, so she quickly added: 'Are you all right?"   
"You startled me," he said, sounding more like his old self. "I know it was a joke- never mind. It's fine." He embraced her a little more tightly than usual.  
"I'm not going anywhere," Florence said, attempting to sound lighthearted. "No snakes, I promise."   
"Good," said Isaac. "I'm sorry," he said after a moment. "I was thinking of my parents."   
"I thought so." She pulled away again. "It's understandable that you would."   
"Would you like to see a picture of them?" Florence nodded, and he took her into the projected hall, where there was a large black-and-white photo in a brass frame that looked like a curling wreath. "It's their wedding photo, I enlarged it," he said.   
Florence thought the Izards both looked rather severe, holding hands and looking into the camera with a dead-eyed glare. Both of them had dark hair- the mother’s in a tight bun, and the father’s quite thin on top. He wore a dark suit with a pointed collar and eyeglasses, round horn-rimmed ones. The photo looked more like a mug shot than the happiest day of their lives.   
"Your father wore glasses,” she said, trying to hide how uneasy the photo made her feel.   
“Supposedly, I take after him. I was named for him- even our initials are the Roman numeral for 2. He liked that I wouldn’t need to put ‘Jr.” after my name.” Isaac sounded far away in thought. "But it's so strange- hearing that I’m like him, and I never knew him.”   
“You must think of them often,” Florence said.   
“I read their old magic books endlessly. I don’t believe they were practitioners. But I wish I could remember them.” Try as she might, Florence just couldn’t imagine these people tucking their little son into bed and kissing him goodnight, reading him a bedtime story, or taking part in any of the happy memories she associated with her own parents. The thought saddened her, and she wondered if Isaac idealized them in his memory, or though of them as cold and distant. She hoped their austere look was just part of the photograph- it was an earlier time, so the Izards, no doubt, had needed to pose stiffly and remain unsmiling.   
As they got to know one another better, Isaac and Florence talked about their plans for the future.   
Florence mentioned how she was hoping to travel the world to complete her dissertation, but that it might be difficult for her. “I’d like to end in America, of course! Even though things haven’t been so good there recently, I’d like to see it all for myself. As for now, I’d like to go to Italy next- they have such a rich history of magic.”   
“Well, they did name a city after you,” Isaac teased.   
Florence smiled faintly. “That they did. But I’m not sure if now is the right time to go, especially alone.”   
“We could go together,” Isaac said. “I’d be happy to travel anywhere with you.”   
“Isaac, you’re very sweet, but the reason I’m not sure is the same reason I had to leave Germany.”   
Isaac had a feeling he knew what she was about to say.  
Florence reached inside her dress, and revealed a delicate chai pendant on a gold chain. “I never brought this up before, but I’m Jewish. With everything that’s been going on in Germany…it’s even taking hold here.” She sounded frightened. “I know in Italy it’s not as pronounced. But you do understand. That’s one reason I keep asking about America.”   
He embraced her and gently kissed her lips. “I’ve studied that symbol, it means life. It looks beautiful on you.” He clasped her hand in his and added intently: “I promise. Nothing will happen to you. If anything compromises our safety, we’ll leave right away. I’ll be with you whenever you need me…but we both know you can take care of yourself.”   
She smiled at him and he couldn’t remember ever seeing her so happy. “Thank you, Isaac. I can’t tell you what that means to me.”   
Their plans for the trip were settled. But not everyone was excited to hear the news.   
"You’re going to Italy with her?” Jonathan cried, looking up from his game of solitaire.   
“Why does that bother you so much? Florence likes you!” Isaac said.   
“You know why.” Jonathan had been playing solitaire in their room. Now that he was in one of his ‘pouts’, as Isaac thought of them, Jonathan started making a big show of flinging the cards on the table in front of him. Isaac was having none of it. He went right over and forcefully put his hand down on the table, where Jonathan had been about to place a card.   
“No I don’t,” he said. “Enlighten me.”   
Jonathan snorted in disgust. “Well, they always said you were the classy one in our act. I guess that’s real class- a girl humiliates your best friend, then you go to bed with her.”   
“It’s none of your business if she and I slept together!” Isaac said, his eyes darkening. “I can’t believe you’re still so upset about that night, that you would go and invent-“  
“I saw you kissing her after she defeated me!” Jonathan said. “Then you took her home. Why should she be different than all your assistants?”   
“You shouldn’t talk about her that way. She tried to help you after the duel! What do you want from me, Jonathan?”   
It was such a direct question that Jonathan almost forgot to be angry. “I… I’m sorry,” Jonathan said. “That was a low blow. I don’t want to fight with you anymore, so let’s forget it.”   
“I wasn’t the one looking for a fight.”   
“I said that you slept with her because… you got in late that night,” he fumbled, “and I guess I was embarrassed about losing to her in front of everyone. I mean, I know it’s petty. But I was doing my best.”   
“You did do your best, and I did want you to win that duel.” Isaac said. “But that’s no excuse for taking it out on us. If I enjoy spending time with her, and she enjoys being with me, we have a right to see each other.”   
“I know I was being childish,” Jonathan said. “Especially when I talked about you and your assistants. They weren’t a bad bunch, from what you told me….”   
“This is different for me, though,” Isaac said, and Jonathan could tell he meant it. “I think I’m falling in love with her. I can see a future with her- every time I see or learn something new, I want to show it to her.”   
“Then I wish you the best,” Jonathan said, trying to smile. “You’d better get packing.”


	4. A Heart, Speaking to a Heart

Isaac and Florence took a train to Milan, took in Otello at La Scala, and enjoyed a brief walk through the city the next morning. As they waited to board their next train, for their ultimate destination, they noticed a disquieting sight on the platform.  
At the edge of the platform was a little girl who looked to be about six years old, crying bitterly. “Emma!” she shouted. Her face was red, and her mouth was caught in a wide howl. “Emma e perduto!”   
Florence ran right over, trying to soothe her. “Wait, wait,” she said in halting Italian. She looked over to Isaac, indicating that he would have to be their interpreter. He had been scanning the area for anyone who might have been the girl’s mother or father. When he saw Florence, he dashed over to where she stood with the girl. Feeling a bit awkward, he knelt down: “It’s all right, dear,” he said in Italian. “Are you hurt? Who’s Emma?”   
“Mia bambola,” she cried, pointing over the ledge. She tried swatting her face with her short, dark hair to wipe her tears.  
“Oh, she lost her doll,” Isaac said. Over the edge, they could see a felt doll, with blue saucer eyes and a little sailor dress.   
“I’ll get it,” Florence said. She poked her trusty umbrella over the edge and held out her left hand in midair. Sparks shot out of her wand and in an instant, the doll flew up into Florence’s free hand. She presented it to the little girl, patting the doll’s blond curls back into place. The girl was overjoyed, first hugging and kissing ‘Emma,” then Florence.   
“Thank you, lady!” she cried. “Thank you, thank you!”   
“Find out where her parents are,” Florence whispered. “What’s her name?”   
“What’s your name, dear?” Isaac asked. He took out a clean hankie and began wiping the tears off her face.   
“I’m Rosina.”   
“Where are your mama and papa, Rosina? Do you see them anywhere?” He looked around the station once more.   
The little girl shook her head. “They’re here.” She reached into her gingham dress and pulled out a little locket on a chain. Inside were two pictures, obviously of her mother and father.  
“Those are very pretty,” he said reassuringly. “But I meant: where did you see them last? I don’t want them to worry about you.”   
“I’m an orphan,” she said in a tiny voice. “I live with my aunt and uncle.”   
Isaac knew that look, the one she had when she said she was an orphan. Childhood had etched it onto his own face. “Then we need to get you back to them.”   
“What’s wrong?” Florence asked.   
“She’s an orphan,” Isaac whispered. Isaac and Rosina continued in Italian: “Where did you see your aunt and uncle last?”   
“Maybe you could ask them if I could stay with you!” she said excitedly. “I could visit them on Sundays, and then I wouldn’t have to write ‘orphan’ next to my name on my papers at school anymore.” The little girl was babbling now, and showed no signs of slowing down. Her words hit so close to Isaac’s heart that he wasn’t sure he could keep up: “Please, Mister? You and your wife are so nice.” She ran over to Florence and hugged her again, and Isaac saw Florence soften more than she ever had to embrace the little girl.  
“Oh…Rosina,” Isaac said softly, taking her by the hand. “I’m sure your aunt and uncle love you very much. Just-“   
“Rosina!” a voice called. Isaac and Florence looked up to see a stern-faced woman leading a group of little girls, all dressed identically to Rosina. “There you are. Who are these people? You know not to talk to strangers,” she said in Italian.  
“I’m sorry, Teacher,” the little girl answered.  
“And so are we,” Isaac said quickly, rising and ushering Rosina over to join her friends. “We saw she was lost, and were trying to help her find her family,” he explained to the woman.  
“I’m her guardian for the next week,” the woman said. “These girls are on a trip for the Opera Nazionale Balilla.” Isaac looked confused, and the woman explained: “It’s the National Youth Camp.” She held up a green book with a picture of a bundle of sticks on it- the symbol of the National Fascist Party. “I told Rosina to be careful with her things.” She eyed them critically. “Why were you touching her?”   
Isaac drew Florence close to him and said: “There was nothing inappropriate, Signora. I think she was just frightened. We’ll leave her to you now.”   
“Let me see your identification,” she said. “I may have to report this.”   
“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Isaac said, as calmly as possible. “But you may see our passports, they’re certainly in order.” He whispered to Florence, who tensed up but handed him her passport.   
The teacher grabbed them and flipped them open... She frowned as she read them. “So. These are real enough, but with names like those? Your kind won’t be welcome here for long.” She lowered her voice: “This country is not part of the Jewish problem.”   
Isaac’s face burned in shame. At first, he was glad Florence couldn’t understand what was being said, but she was no fool. The woman’s look and voice gave it all away.   
“There’s the good fairy’s umbrella!” Rosina cried, breaking the mood and pointing at Florence. “She waved it and got my doll back!” The other little girls giggled.   
“Rosina!” the teacher cried. “No nonsense!” She turned back to Isaac and did not even glance at Florence as she said stiffly: “Good day.” With that, she ushered the group of girls along and Rosina sadly waved at the couple. Florence blew her a kiss in return, and then she and Isaac walked off, in a haze over all that had happened.   
“Rosina called you a good fairy,” Isaac said, squeezing his lover’s hand. He so wanted her to smile after all that had happened. “You certainly have a way with children.”   
“So do you,” Florence said.  
“You should have told her you were La Befana.”   
“Oh, like in the Christmas story,” Florence laughed. “I read that in my Magic in Folklore course.” She stopped in her tracks and said: “You looked like you were about to cry when she told you what those pictures really meant.”   
“I know how she feels,” he said. Gently, he urged Florence on and they began walking again. “I’m so sorry about that woman. I don’t know if you understood-“  
“I understood enough,” she said bitterly. “But I feel bad for those girls, not myself. They have groups like that in Germany, teaching children to obey their leaders without question….” Florence seemed to be using everything she had to hold back her anger, her tears. “It’s spreading like a disease.”   
“We can turn around right now,” Isaac said softly. He stopped and tried to take her hand. “I can take you back to Paris, if that’s what you want.”   
“No,” she said. “I appreciate that, but I don’t want to let those people scare me. I’m already here, so I should enjoy my time with you. And as I was saying before, I think it might be time for me to finish up my research in the States. Perhaps this was a sign.”   
“I wish you didn’t have to be afraid.” Secretly, he felt a spark in his heart- maybe it was a sign of a different kind. If Florence wanted to go to America, then he could propose to her. He’d wanted to ever since the first night they spent together- she was a partner, not just an assistant. He couldn’t let her slip away from him. They walked over to where their train was waiting.


	5. Dancing with the Monsters In My Mind

The encounter with the little girl had been a bittersweet spot in their trip, and sadly, things would continue in that vein. Milan had been pleasant, and Firenze had started the same way. They wandered the galleries and noted many objects that Florence wanted to research more closely. They walked the Ponte Vecchio, the bridge where local merchants gather to make and sell priceless jewelry. Florentines are not ostentatious by nature, but they are very proud of their craft and the artistic elegance of their city. Florence’s eyes lit up at every shop window, seeing amethysts and purple jade, even purple sapphires. Isaac stopped her and whispered:

“I’ll buy you anything you like. You should have a souvenir of the trip.”

“No,” she said insistently, but with a smile. “Thank you- you should let me buy _you_ something. You invited me as your guest.”

She bought him cufflinks and had them engraved with an omega. Isaac had used that as his personal symbol in his act. While her back was turned, he made a purchase of his own- an engagement ring with a blue-violet stone. He had crafted the prelude for a romantic ending. But human emotions don’t always come together in a clear pattern, the way music does. When we least expect it, dissonant notes can sound, and the song will end.

As the trip progressed, Florence wanted to spend more time alone, and would often set out early in the morning to go for long walks. He wondered if he had made the right choice in buying her the ring, but it wasn’t as if he could ask her about it. These thoughts ran through his head as they set out on their excursion to the Pitti Palace.

They were in what was called the Mars Room, dominated by Rubens’ painting _The Consequences of War._ Isaac was pondering the work, hoping to lose himself in it, but it only made his worries seem greater. Life was such a fragile thing. It seemed there was no refuge from any of it. Perhaps even the trip itself had been a mistake. They had taken a huge risk in coming here, and his silly romantic notions didn’t cancel that risk out. Should he have listened to Jonathan? It was then that he saw a curtain in the corner of the room rustling, just slightly. There was no wind- in fact, the room was eerily still and Isaac was the only person in it. The outline of the fabric suggested someone or something was causing the rustle. He could almost see the line of a chair- and he got a feeling, the same as when he had cast his first spell, where his pulse quickened. Isaac knew he was about to confront something that he would not understand all at once, something that might frighten him. He told himself he could call home to Jonathan, whatever it was, and get his friend’s advice. Still, his fear grappled with his curiosity. He looked down at the gold cufflinks on his wrists, which he had insisted on wearing even though they were too formal for everyday wear. Should he ask Florence to investigate this with him? No, somehow, he felt that this investigation was meant for him alone, not her. He was proven right when he drew back the curtain. There was a chair, and the man sitting in it was himself.

The seated figure was older-his face had gone a bit slack, there was silver in his unkempt hair- but there is no mistaking one’s own face, one’s own eyes. Isaac looked past the one cracked lens of his double's glasses and felt his own gaze. But the eyes were wild and staring. He remembered his early studies and realized it was a fetch, a kind of spirit that symbolized an impending doom. No cry of fear left him, he was caught up in analyzing in everything that was ‘off’ about his doppelganger. Could it be a fetch or his future self, trying to send him a message? Perhaps both- such things were not unheard of, when a magic user was under extreme distress. He scanned the figure for signs of what that message might be. The figure was wearing a dark suit, one that would be old-fashioned even now. He realized the figure was wearing his father’s old clothes from the wedding portrait, which were currently sitting in the attic in New Zebedee. There was a manic energy to his face, but did it come from fear, anger, or a gleeful madness? What had happened…no, was going to happen- to him? 

"What do you want?" Isaac said.

His fetch didn't laugh or smile, but reached out and grabbed his wrist. Isaac looked down and saw another signpost he could not explain. His double was wearing a wedding ring. Who was he married to- could it be Florence? Before he could ask, his older, darker self spoke: 

" _Venio,"_ he rasped. 

Isaac knew his Latin and didn't hesitate. "When are you coming? Are you in danger- is my wife in danger?" 

The fetch released his hand and replied: "Not even death will part you from her. But you need her." His double then disappeared.

Isaac was shaking so hard that he didn’t even notice Florence had come up behind him. He was sure his heart had stopped.

“Isaac, what’s the matter?” she asked.

“I saw something,” he said, his voice strangely flat.

“What?” she asked. “Do I need to go get my umbrella?”

“No. I think we should go, but I’ll tell you…I’ll tell you more once we’re back at the room.” Florence agreed and on the ride back, Isaac had started to tell her what he had seen. When they got back to their room. Florence ordered him a cup of tea and he finished telling her about the fetch.

His hands were still shaking.

"You're going to drop that cup," Florence said. She had meant it as a joke, but now it seemed like a real possibility. 

“You know a fetch means death is coming," he said quietly. 

"You're not going to die," she assured him. "You said you had grown older." 

"But it could still mean my death- or yours," he said. "Those eyes had seen something horrible, I know it. And I never found out about the..."

"What?" 

He hadn't wanted to broach the subject, although he still had the ring and was more determined than ever to give it to her.

"There's something you're not telling me," Florence said. “We can figure it out together.”

"The fetch, this older version of myself, was wearing a wedding ring," he said. "I don't know where it came from. He mentioned…that I was married, but didn’t go into specifics.”

"Oh," she whispered. "I don't think signs like these are always literal-“

He reached out and grabbed her hand. "The fetch could be a sign that you're in danger. I won't let that happen." 

"I thought we agreed that I can take care of myself," she said, moving backward and politely letting go. " It's better if you just try be aware and careful- don't let this thing you saw consume you." 

“But…”

She met his eyes. “I'm afraid I’m not ready to settle down just yet.” Isaac looked hurt, and she weakly added: "I'm sorry. I care very much for you, Isaac, and you're a fine man. But I want to pursue my career, and nothing about the future is ever certain. We haven’t been seeing each other that long. You might meet someone else." 

"She won't be you," he said, his voice breaking. 

“We may not want the same things, Isaac.”

He glared at her in a way that made Florence stop in her tracks. "Don’t act as if I don’t know you. I know a lot more than you think,” he said. His eyes didn’t seem to be focused on anything in the room, least of all her. He was reeling from her response and lost, all at the same time. 

"Please, if you’d just listen-“

He went to the door and opened it with a loud creak. “There’s been enough talk. I’ll be back later.”

Florence watched him go. It was only when he was finally out of sight that a tear fell down her face. She did her best to calm herself by sitting in a warm bath with one of her purple cigars. It didn't help- she still felt nervous, depressed, and weak, as if Isaac had slapped her. What was she supposed to do, lie to him? She hadn't expected her words would hurt his feelings so much, or that he had been so consumed by some imaginary future he thought they were supposed to have. Perhaps most of his hostility had come from shock, but he had never been so distant when he was angry before. It was like he had become someone else. Why had considered everything except her feelings? She leaned back in the tub and watched the purple smoke rise over her head. If only she could dissolve into it, to come back someplace far away from here.

____________________________________________________________________________________________

He got back several hours later.

“Hello,” she said tentatively.

“I need to give you something,” he said. His expression was blank as he thrust the little ring box into her hand.

“What?” she said, her eyes wide. “What is this?” She opened it. “Oh…Isaac.”

Isaac looked at her as if she had laughed in his face. “I bought it while you were buying my gift. Now I know I have to give it to you. Please, Florence.”

“I wasn’t expecting this until you told me about the fetch, not at all,” she faltered. “Are you frightened about the future, Isaac? Is that it? I’m even more scared than you are. But let’s not rush into things.”

“I know that if you want to share your life with me, we have nothing to be afraid of.” He held out the ring to her. ‘Take it,” he insisted.

“No,” Florence said, surprising even herself at how horrified she sounded. “This is ridiculous. “I don’t even think you saw a fetch. I think your anxiety made you believe you saw something.”

“I know that I love you,” he said firmly. He frowned, holding something back. “You would be such a good mother. I saw the way you took care of that little girl. It was like it was meant to happen. As if all of it was meant to happen, this way…” She wasn’t sure whether he was about to shout in anger or burst into tears.

“Maybe you do love me,” she said, her voice shaking. “And I do care for you very much. But you want a family, so you want me to fill that space and just go through the motions like I was one of your toys: get married, have a baby. I don’t think I’m ready for those things yet. I’m sorry, I can’t accept this.”

He looked as if he were about to dash the ring to the floor. But the moment passed, and he seemed to force his feelings down. Isaac put the ring in his pocket. “Then…you want nothing more to do with me?” 

“I never said that,” she said weakly. “Stop assuming, Isaac. Think about what’s right here in front of you. We can talk this out, and I don’t want you out of my life.”

“Based on what you said, it sounds like you’ve washed your hands of me,” he said bitterly.

“No,” Florence insisted, “I want to make my own choices.”

“Were you leading me on this whole time?”

“No!” she cried. “I’ve meant every word I said to you, everything I’ve done.”

Defeated, he looked at his hand, the one that had offered the ring, then back to her. “Why did you even come on this trip with me? Didn’t you see this as an investment in our future?”

“I saw you. I thought that was enough,” she said, her gaze steady.

He turned away.

When she saw he couldn’t bear to look at her, she took her newly repacked suitcase from under the bed. “I think I should go back to Paris,” she said. “And you should too, Jonathan’s waiting for you. I won’t bother you tonight; I’m leaving in the morning for my apartment.”

______________________________________________________________________________________

Isaac couldn’t stay in the hotel by himself. He was in one of those dangerous mental spaces- the kind where someone feels trapped, but doesn’t know if they will escape faster by lashing out at someone else, or destroying themselves. He couldn’t see the possibility that he might find happiness with someone else, or in something else. Right now all he could see was Florence’s rejection. To him, it felt as if she were rejecting more than a proposal, but everything Isaac was and all the kindness he’d showed her. _Doesn’t she understand how I feel about her? I don’t just want her, I think the world of her- perhaps she doesn’t think I’m good enough for her,_ he thought, remembering that everyone seemed to admire Florence, and he’d had to work very hard to be accepted by their community. Everything had seemed to fall into place for him once their relationship had begun. The most mundane things seemed more vibrant and special when he was with her, or even thinking of her. Even his magic had improved, and it had been easier to network among the Society with Florence at his side. Where did this leave him now? He tried to tell himself that he had many things to be grateful for and to not be so fatalistic. But the sadness he felt allowed another voice to creep in: _Without her, all your plans mean nothing. What have you got to be proud of, without her?_

He was wealthy and probably would be for the foreseeable future, despite how bad the American economy was- but this good fortune wasn’t anything he’d earned, and seemed less comforting when he knew he had no one to share it with. He’d tried to be successful at his craft and he had, but he’d alienated a lot of people along the way. They could turn on him in an instant. Without Florence, his relationship with Jonathan might well improve, but at what cost? _What’s the point of it all, anyway,_ the dark part of his mind continued. _You do everything you can to turn things around, it gets you nowhere. You might as well lay down and die._ In frustration, he got out his cigarette case and fumbled with it, trying to get a cigarette. Without realizing it, he focused his magic on the case and the silver began to crumple in his hand like, it was tissue paper. The metal grew hot and to stop himself from being burned, he didn’t drop the case in alarm- he angrily balled up his fist and dashed it to the pavement, like he was beating his fist against a wall. Isaac saw the crumpled black metal and the smoke pouring from it, and was frightened at what else he might be capable of. He calmed slightly, telling himself he didn’t want to harm anyone, not even himself.

_I have to try and change this,_ he thought. _All I can do is try._

_________________________________________________________________________________

Isaac knew that Florence didn’t want him to follow her, but of course, he followed anyway. He kept about twenty feet between them and did his best not to be seen- her all-purple attire made it very easy to find her in crowds. They had just reached the train station when she turned on her heel to face him, glaring directly at him. The crowd streamed past them as they confronted one another, knowing the train would arrive in minutes.

“You just couldn’t let this go,” she said.

He sighed. “I think I would’ve been more disappointed if you didn’t know I was here,” he said.

“I’ll always be your friend,” she said, holding her bag in front of her as if it were a shield, and she were defending her honor. “You’re just going to have to accept that.”

“I love you,” he said softly.

“You’ll survive. And if you do love me, don’t follow me any further. ” Without a word, she joined the next wave of people walking into the station.

She sat away from the window so he couldn’t see her, but his eyes scanned her form as she entered the train, and tried to find where she sat down. He wasn’t able to locate her as she sat with her face in a copy of _The Age Of Innocence,_ trying so hard to fade into the background _._ There were no protests, no words of love or made dashes after the train. Although there were tears in her eyes, she did not look for him or take her eyes off the book, and he didn’t make a move towards the train from his hiding place. The train simply pulled away.


	6. All the Whispers of the Possible Became Clear and Loud

Jonathan was standing on a Parisian street corner, playing his saxophone. He was trying to grow a beard again, and Florence wasn’t sure it suited him. Being a jazz musician suits him even less, she thought. Florence screamed over the blatting sound of the saxophone: “JONATHAN!”   
“What do you want?” he said, stopping in the middle of Cole Porter’s ‘Paree, What Did You Do To Me?’  
“I want to talk to you about Isaac,” she said. “Come on, Jonathan. We’re friends, aren’t we?”   
“I’m not leaving until my hat’s full,” he said, gesturing to the fez that lay on the cobblestones at his feet. It was partially filled with coins. Florence poked it disdainfully with the purple point of her shoe. She noticed he hadn’t reaffirmed that they were friends, and it hit her at a vulnerable time. Maybe that was why she said:   
“I think people are paying you to stop playing.”   
“We are,” added a woman who popped up behind Florence. “My husband and I are trying to enjoy our honeymoon, if you don’t mind.” She dropped a crisp American dollar bill into the fez, and hurried back to a man who stood across the street with an annoyed expression.   
‘Oh, am I bothering you?” Jonathan shouted mockingly.  
“Get a real job!” the man shouted back. “You sound like a moose giving birth!” And with that, the couple rushed away. Jonathan looked devastated, and Florence reached down to pick up the fez and hand it to him.   
“Keep this,” she said. “Let’s go to the Café Papillon on the corner, and I’ll buy you a drink.” Jonathan stashed his sax in its case and they went to the café, where they sat at an outdoor table with red and beige wicker chairs. Jonathan ordered a brandy and though it was a warm night, Florence asked for hot chocolate in a purple cup. The hot drink always soothed her. When the waiter brought her the cup and a whole pot of chocolate, she asked him to bring Jonathan a cup as well. “It’ll calm you down,” she told him.   
Jonathan shrugged and dumped a nice draught of brandy into his chocolate. “What do you want to talk about? Isaac? He told me everything over the phone. You really did a number on him, he’s going back to his family’s place for a while.”   
“I don’t regret what I did, but I’m worried for him,” she said softly, staring at the people walking through the streets. She wondered what each of them was thinking about: if there was somewhere they’d prefer to be, if their lives had gone unexpectedly wrong. “He gets so…fixated. Obsessed, really. You’re his best friend, so tell me, did he only ask me to marry him because he was afraid of being alone?”   
Jonathan tipped some brandy into her cup. “I get lonely too, but you don’t see me running around, begging people to share their lives with me.”   
“No, you’re your own person,” she said. “You don’t care what people think. That’s what I’ve always liked about you.”   
He snorted in disbelief. “What’s that supposed to be, sarcasm?”   
“No, I mean it,” she said, trying not to whine in frustration. “I’ve always liked you. I hope that we are friends, since now…I mean, I didn’t want to hurt him. I knew I had to be honest.”   
“Well, I’ll give you credit for that,” he muttered.   
“I guess I should be glad you’re not saying ‘I told you so’ or laughing in my face,” said Florence. She took another sip of her drink and looked back to the crowd.   
“I don’t want to do that,” Jonathan said wearily. “I know I was a real pest when you two were dating.”   
‘Could you tell me why you were such a pest?” she said, giving him a very cutting look.   
“I…” he broke off, not meeting her eyes, and plopped the fez on the table. He started sifting through the money, restlessly moving the coins around. “Look, you were honest and I want to be honest with you. I’m sorry for acting like a child. And I do want to give you an answer- not an excuse, just the answer you asked for. But the fact is, it’s not something I can talk about.”  
“I’m the last person who would judge you!” she said indignantly. “Your apology won’t mean a thing if you ‘can’t talk’ about it. I won’t tell Isaac and I have no reason to, since we’re not together anymore.”   
“Stop telling me what a good person you are and listen,” he snapped. He motioned for her to lean in, and looked around. No one was at the table next to them, or passing close by. He sighed and whispered: “I think my own… feelings for Isaac may have gotten in the way. I’ve tried to forget them but they’re not totally gone. What I did was petty and stupid, and I’m sorry. He’d probably be better off with you.”   
“I had a feeling that was it,” she said softly.   
‘Am I that obvious?” he sputtered, looking around anxiously.  
“No, no!” She sat back up. “Just a feeling I got. Does he know you're..."  
"I'm what they call curious. About all kinds of people. You remember Sadie, for example." Florence nodded and Jonathan went on: "Isaac knows about my past, of course, but he has no idea how I see him. He sees me as a younger brother and maybe it’s better than way. He has no interest in....wearing a red necktie. That’s a New York expression, but you know what I mean.”   
Florence nodded. “I’m sorry. I realize it’s difficult.” She stopped, remembering something. “Jonathan, I think it’s time we all went to the States. For our own protection.”   
Jonathan swigged his brandy. “I don’t need your pity,” he said.   
“Well, good. I have no intention of giving you any,” she snapped. “I just don’t feel anyone should face this…thing…that’s coming alone.”   
He looked at her, trying to read her face. “You really care whether I’ll be okay?” She nodded. “And you won’t tell Isaac what I told you?”  
“I never would.”   
Jonathan sat up straighter in his chair. “Thank you, Florence. And thank you for the drink. I was planning to leave for home soon, and I’ll write you when I get there.”  
“Well, when you do, promise me one thing.”   
“I can try.”   
“Give up that saxophone, Weird Beard.” And with that, they both laughed, until the tension and jealousy of the past was laughed away.


	7. That's Just the Sound of My Heart Breaking, Ship to Shore

Paris, 1940  
By now, Florence was married and had a child. She had met Eitan in 1934 through her studies- he was an investigative journalist for an underground anti-Nazi newspaper, trying to crack the case on the ‘secret occult studies’ going on at the University, and if they had any connection to the government. Florence joked that he got a lot more than he bargained for. Eitan and Florence were married in 1935 and they soon had a daughter. They named her after Eitan’s late mother: Meidlin, or Matilda, which means “Strong one.” Florence stayed in touch with Jonathan and even sent him little gifts during the holidays. Occasionally, she and Isaac even exchanged notes, and both of them were happy to make a new start of their friendship.   
Happiness like this does not come without change. Nothing does.   
Florence had thought she’d be safe in Paris. But the Nazis invaded the city on May 10, 1940. She thought that she and her family would be able to survive, even though the Nazis were plundering her city and they had stopped her letters to Jonathan and Byron. For the sake of their daughter, Florence and Eitan tried to be brave and live as normally as they could. Then on July 16, 1942, Florence was separated from her husband. She and Meidlin were taken away in a train, along with countless other women and children. She didn’t know what was worse- the journey there, wondering what horror would be in store, or the prospect of actually ending that journey and finding out. First, she held her daughter close and wondered about her husband, worrying for his safety or if she would ever see him again. Then she had tried to send a message to Jonathan and Byron using her magic, but then the train stopped, and she saw just what kind of place the Nazis had brought them to. Auschwitz. The sights and sounds there created a mental block in Florence, and all she could think about was protecting Meidlin.  
Not long after they arrived, Florence’s daughter was taken from her. When she knew that her daughter had been killed, it snuffed her power- all her emotions- out like a candle. No amount of magic in the world would have been able to locate Florence Zimmerman.   
“What do you mean, there’s nothing we can do?” Jonathan cried, when Byron told him it was too late.   
“We can’t pick up her signal,” Byron said. Jonathan had never seen this blustering braggart look so afraid. He wasn’t even wearing his coat. “She can’t send a projection, a message- nothing. You know this is the worst possible time for our cover to be blown and for the Nazis to think we’re more than harmless eccentrics. If they knew there are people here, or worse yet, in Germany, who could really-“   
“Understood,” Jonathan whispered. He wasn’t thinking of himself, he knew they couldn’t risk the many magic users who might be in hiding. “But tell me, do you think Florence is still alive?”   
“She might be,” Byron said weakly. “We have to have hope. But right now, she has none, or we’d be able to locate her…I’m sure Isaac has told you about this, but, uh, let me remind you that one’s powers can-“  
“I know!” Jonathan thundered. “During a psychological trauma, magic can fade, change, or be cut off completely. I don’t need your condescension. I just need to know she’s okay.”   
Byron looked as if he were about to faint. “You think I don’t know that? For someone like Florence to just- short out, like that… who knows what’s happening to her, Jonathan? We might never see her again.”   
Jonathan could have kicked himself- there was his anger again, ruining everything. Even Florence’s life. “If I could…” Byron looked like he was about to say something, so Jonathan added: “Stow it, Byron. I know what you’re gonna say: that if you don’t feel safe enough to go looking for her, there’s no way I’d have the power. You’re right, as always. I’m sorry for yelling at you.”   
“She’s lucky you have her back,” Byron replied.   
Jonathan returned home, shaken. Isaac met him at the front door.   
“You didn’t hear anything.” Isaac was telling him, not asking him.   
“No,” Jonathan said, as steadily as he could. “We don’t even know where she is, and no one wants to risk the fallout of going to look for her. But we’ve got to have hope. That’s all we can do.”   
His friend nodded in agreement, and they embraced each other as friends always have.   
“I wonder what happened to her family,” Isaac said softly.   
“We’re her family too,” Jonathan said. “Both of us.”


	8. Tongue So Sharp, the Bubble Burst

Michigan, 1942  
Isaac and Jonathan had registered for the draft in 1940. Both of them were prepared to fight, but Jonathan’s past had come up, and it looked like Isaac would be heading for the front by himself. Jonathan’s prior arrest for ‘soliciting’ had come to light. It was only after Isaac’s lawyer had used his clout that the charge had been dropped from sodomy- a felony in Michigan at that time- to solicitation.   
“I…almost wish I was going with you,” Jonathan said when Isaac got the news. He noticed how uncomfortable Isaac looked, holding the letter in his hand as if were a death warrant for Jonathan. “Does it bother you, when I talk about that?”   
“Don’t give me that again!” Isaac said. He stalked past his friend, getting ready to go upstairs.   
“I can’t help it if the army doesn’t want me because of who I am,” Jonathan cried.  
Isaac turned back and looked disgustedly at him. “Aren’t you lucky- you have me to clean up your messes for you.”  
“What was I supposed to do, lie about that time I got caught with an undercover cop?” Jonathan couldn’t meet his eyes. Did Isaac really know everything about him? Even the feelings that still lingered on? “Are you so ashamed of me? We’ve been through so much together. Doesn’t that mean anything to you??   
“People are going to find out why you weren’t drafted, and they will talk!”  
“No one’s going to talk! We have nothing to hide!” Jonathan screamed.   
In the end, Isaac did ship out by himself, serving as a medic for the U.S. Army. He saw many good men and women killed, despite all he did to help them. But now, we enter into the familiar part of this tale, when Isaac was fighting in Germany and went MIA. When he found something that wanted to be found, but he should never have seen.


	9. You're My Temptation

The Black Forest, 1945

Isaac didn’t need the hunched creature to announce that it was a demon. Even the being’s stance, the uncanny look in his eyes, told Isaac of its true nature.

The demon smiled, almost leering at him. He was drumming his fingers against a stone cup, the long nails clicking. "I heard you calling me," he said. "Here I am." 

"You...I don't know you," Isaac faltered. "How could I call you?" There was a fire in front of the demon and Isaac could hear it crackle, but he couldn't feel any heat. It was as if the air itself had changed- and when he looked up, he could no longer tell whether it was day or night. Not only was the sky a strange shade of gray-green, he couldn't remember how long he'd been walking in the Black Forest or where he'd been before he entered. Everything seemed lost in a fog, except his dark wish. Isaac looked down at his watch. The hands on the watch’s face had vanished.

"But I know your name, Isaac. You said, 'make me powerful enough to end this.' Even if you don't know me, you must know what I am," the demon said. He indicated the space next to him by the fire, and motioned for Isaac to sit down. Isaac hesitated and looked at his watch again. "You stopped my watch, didn't you?" he said softly.

The demon seemed to be trying to make his satyr-like face look reassuring. "I'll replace it. Sit with me. Tell me what troubles you." 

“I know what you are, but tell me your name,” Isaac replied. “Please.” 

“It’s already there in your head,” the demon said, looking down at the fire.

“Azazel," Isaac said, feeling the word ring like a bell in his mind. “I’ve read about you in my parents’ books.”

“Then you’ve heard about how I started all this,” he said, throwing another stick into the fire. “War, my gift to humanity. Most wars are about the same things: greed, jealousy. But this particular one has been different, more about how willing mortals are to are to blame their problems on someone else- and kill them for it. How easily they serve corruption, as long as they’re not getting hurt.”

“It’s true,” Isaac replied.

The demon laughed mirthlessly. “You don’t sound concerned for them.”

“I have no reason to be,” Isaac whispered. “The people in power did this to themselves.” He couldn’t recall everything he wanted to about everyone in his unit, his friends and how they had died. The memories were too recent, too painful.

“This feeling you have, or lack or feeling,” the demon said, “I think it was when you realized your own country was ignoring the warning signs. Even they started locking up people who were 'suspicious', putting them in camps. Your people were supposed to be the heroes of this story- at least that's what you thought.” He looked at him with what seemed like real sympathy. "Poor thing." 

“I…I just wish that it had never happened.” Behind his glasses, Isaac was crying. “Not to me, not to anyone.”

“Ah, but you know what they’ll say: you volunteered for this, didn’t you? Your country, right or wrong, and all that empty goodness.”

“I didn’t know it would be like this,” Isaac said, burying his face in his hands. "I wanted to do good. But none of it matters, the result is always the same. Everyone dies." He couldn't find the words for what he was feeling- this fear that everything he had ever seen or experienced had a dark, awful secret at its heart. That every moment of happiness for him was one of suffering for someone else. People he’d befriended during this time had died, and he’d been unable to help them. All of his efforts, his hopes: pointless. He knew now that this was the death his fetch had warned him about, the untold deaths of millions.

"I understand, my son," the demon said. "You don't have to feel powerless- I can give you a way to stop this. Your choices will bring order to this world again." He put his arm around Isaac, who collapsed into the demon's shoulder and dimly remembered his mother. 

The man suddenly raised his head and brushed aside his tangled bangs. "Can you tell me what happened to my family? Are they…? " He pointed upwards.

"That's out of my jurisdiction," the demon replied. "But you want to know what I can give you for your pain, don't you? I know you’re right person to give it to." He continued holding his guest, and lowered his voice and head, taking him into confidence. The fire flickered, cold and lifeless despite the bright orange and red. Isaac felt much older than he really was, and so tired. If something could allow him to feel or even sleep the way he used to, then he wanted to know about it. 

'The power? For my soul?”

His mentor shook his head. “No, for you to complete a task. Now, after what you’ve seen, you know this world makes no sense. Tell me, Isaac Izard- do you think you can do better?" 

"Better than who?" He drew back and broke his embrace with Azazel. Isaac was afraid but excited to hear what the answer would be. As with the demon's name, he had the feeling he already knew.

The demon extended his clawed finger and pointed straight up. He grinned at Isaac. The sorcerer was too overcome to speak- with fear or joy, he could not tell.

"That's the kind of power I'm offering you. Do you accept?" his mentor asked.

"Yes!" Isaac said breathlessly. 

“Then take this,” he said, picking up the stone cup. Suddenly it was filled with a molten red liquid. Isaac could hear it bubble, it looked more than hot enough to burn his bloodied hands. But when Isaac tried to take it from Azazel, the cup was the same temperature as his own hands. “It bears the symbol you love. It was meant for you,” Azazel said. He pointed to the cup and Isaac saw there was a large omega carved into it. He’d been too distracted by the feeling of the cup to notice. “You are the beginning and the end, alpha and the omega,” his master said, and motioned for him to drink. Isaac did, and noted the tepid drink was earthy, like beets, with an aftertaste something like cloves. As he swallowed the last of it, he bowed his head and put the cup down.

"May it be. Now give me your hand," Azazel said. Isaac held out his left hand, as if by instinct, and the demon seized it. Azazel made a deep cut with his claw and a wide slash of blood appeared. Isaac flinched at the pain- but forgot it once the demon stuck out his long, forked tongue and began licking his wound. A blood pact, like he’d read about. And to his horror, he was enjoying the feeling of the demon's tongue on his flesh. It reminded him of when Florence used to... _no,_ he told himself. _That's disgusting._

"Hush," the demon said, raising his head to meet the sorcerer's eyes. They both knew Isaac hadn't spoken aloud. "Now," Azazel said, "look within, and see the reality you will create.” It all came rushing into Isaac's mind. It consumed his senses: The murderous clock that would continue counting backward until every man, woman and child had been wiped from existence. Except himself, Isaac Izard- the sole ruler, there to ensure no mistakes would be repeated.

"Is it possible?" he said, almost numb. "This is unstable magic, blood magic-the process might kill me before I can finish the clock."

The demon scoffed. "You know death is not the end." Out of thin air, he produced a book, with a strange compass attached to the front cover, one that looked like a skeletal hand. "With this, you will be immortal." 

"The Necronomicon?" Isaac said, referencing an ancient book of dark spells. "I thought they'd all been destroyed by Professor Henry Armitage." 

"We have no shortage of them," Azazel said. "This copy is for you, my son, and I'll teach you all its secrets." 

“But I’ll need someone to revive me, even if I have the book.”

"Isaac," he said sharply. "You wanted the power. You’re not having second thoughts."

"I won't spend eternity alone!” He panted: “I once saw a fetch…another version of myself. I think he was trying to tell me about this. About you.”

“What did it say?”

“He mentioned my wife. I’m not supposed to be alone, Master.”

"I see. Azazel said, seizing his left hand again. "You must be tired, Isaac. Lie down, and we'll discuss it when you're awake."

He really was tired- it wasn't just the demon’s power that was compelling him to rest. His mind felt like it was about to splinter even more. Isaac took off his jacket, rested it on the ground and lay on top. He was asleep before he even took off his glasses. 

When he woke up, nothing had changed, not even where Azazel was sitting, or the brightness of the fire. Isaac saw that the demon’s eyes were on him, and, wanting to be respectful, he said: “Master? How long have I been asleep?”

“Two days. Don’t let it worry you. I have a present for you, now that you’ve joined us,” the Demon said, walking over to him. Almost lovingly, he stroked his charge’s face. “I understand that you’ve been lonely. This gift will help ease your loneliness until you return home.”

“I return home, then I start work on the clock?”

“Don’t think about that now. I need to give you your gift.”

Isaac didn’t know what to expect, but he did know it would be very unwise to refuse a gift from Azazel. “Thank you, Master.”

The demon nodded. “Go to the row of trees, there, at the edge of the clearing. You’ll know it when you see it.” He started walking and in the middle of the row, Isaac saw a myrtle tree with a deep, dark opening in it, like the mouth of a cave. He saw a white hand emerge from the darkness, and he held his breath as a beautiful woman stepped out into the night. She was a creature from a dark fairytale: tossing her long, golden hair behind her, her skin pale against her black silk gown. “Good evening,” she murmured, striding toward him. No branches broke, no leaves rustled, beneath her delicate steps.

“You…are the gift he sent?” Isaac was astonished at the sight of her; he had been expecting his gift to be some magical device like a Hand of Glory. It had been so long since he’d been in a relationship or even touched a woman. He hadn’t even thought about such things for weeks, until…until his hand was licked. His thoughts of the past melted away as he heard her dusky voice: “Azazel didn’t tell me how handsome you were.”

The situation and her presence were overwhelming him. “Are you real? Are you mine?”

“Tonight, I’m all yours,” she replied with a little smile. She held out her arms, and he took her and held her tightly to him, kissing her so urgently- as if he thought she might dissolve into the night. Then he stopped suddenly, feeling something icy on his hands:

“Your skin- it’s so cold, you must be freezing,” he whispered, running his hands over her to warm her. It was almost as if she were dead. Like the bodies he had seen throughout his dreams. He pulled away- the memories were too real, too tangible.

The woman tilted her head, her eyes dark and staring like an animal’s.

“Darling, are you leaving me already?” she said.

“I tried to tell you,” he panted. He had been ardent a moment ago but now it was as if the energy had rushed out of his body. He wasn’t sure that he had really woken up. “I’m not sure what’s real anymore, I’m so confused…”

“You’re so strong, to bear so much pain,” she said. “Let me ease it for you.” She held her arms out again and he returned to her embrace, crying. As he wept, she lay gentle kisses on his brow and held him close.

“What’s your name?” he asked her.

“Shhh,” she whispered, and continued to caress and kiss him. He felt her grow warmer around his shaking body, and as he warmed, his whole body began to relax. He felt almost like his old self, like there would finally be an end to this emptiness inside him. She gently eased him down to the ground and lay his head in her lap. He stopped weeping and began trying to explain what happened to him, stumbling over the words: about the war, the fetch, even his unhappy childhood. She stroked his hair and nodded in reply.

‘Thank you,” he said, when he had at last finished. They rose and he kissed her again, slowly and gratefully. “You’ve been so kind. I haven’t even had a conversation with anyone for such a long time.”

“Anything for you,” she cooed. “Shall I stay with you for the night?”

He stepped back slightly and looked at her, remembering women who hadn’t crossed his mind in years. Like Jaqueline…and Florence. Had things been so simple then? “Anything, for me?” he asked. 

“Whatever you want,” she said. She ran her hand through her long hair and pushed it behind her, baring her neck. Her fingers gently moved from her neck to her shoulders, playing across her skin.

“I want _you_ ,” he said, his voice low. She nodded knowingly, and his hand reached down and pulled up her skirt.

Azazel, who had been watching nearby, vanished. He knew this was the fastest way to get the sorcerer comfortable and within his grasp. Now, Isaac would surely build the clock.

When Isaac woke the next morning, hoping to find the girl’s lovely form still pressed against him, he was alone. The fire was out, the sky was normal, and even the hands on his watch had been restored. Twigs scratched and dug into his back. His uniform was still dirty and worn, and he still felt the bitter cold of the forest air. But he looked in his bag saw the book Azazel had given him, and he knew last night’s visits from Azazel and the mysterious woman had not been a dream. The power was his, and his life would have purpose once more. He smiled and whispered: “I am the Alpha and the Omega.”


	10. I Am the Lie that You Adore

“You did well,” Azazel told his servant as they met at the gates of Hell. “Now that I know his weakness, we’ll keep him pacified.”

The female gazed thoughtfully into the distance, her form shimmering in and out of focus. “Master,” she said, “I know I am bound to follow your orders. But this man, why didn’t he see through it?”

“What, my offer?” the demon asked, smiling triumphantly. “Or your wonderful illusion?”

“I meant your offer,” she said. “Why did he believe you would allow him to destroy the whole world? Lots of people wanted to end that war, and no single demon has the power to destroy the mortal world.”

“He’s arrogant, Lamia,” the demon laughed. “It blinds him. He’ll never know that when the trumpets sound, everything outside that house will be an illusion. He and his mate will rule nothing but an empty space.”

“He said I must be cold,” the female wondered. “He must have thought I was still human.”

“You don’t remember the cold, though,” Azazel said warily.

“No. Will you really find him a mate?” the girl asked, sweeping aside the shadow of her gold hair as if it were a cobweb. She tore off her pale face and crumpled it up like a paper party decoration. Only the outline of a woman’s body was left, hanging in the air like silver smoke.

“He must come to us willingly, so I need to find a beautiful woman with a spiteful heart, like the one you once had.”

The female touched where her chest would be, feeling empty air. “But Master, permit me- why would you give him what he wants? Why does his soul mean so much to you?”

“Not to me, to the one we both serve,” he said gravely. “Soon you will understand.”

In the shadows of the Black Forest, Azazel taught Isaac some of the most dangerous and deadly arts known to magic users. They began with the art of true disguise- not a shade, but a transformation spell so powerful that even the subject's own children could be fooled by a false voice or face. Then, blood magic- the art of taking flesh and bone from another and converting it into raw magical energy. There were many other lessons, but it was these two that helped Isaac to escape to the US and begin work on the clock. "I could easily take you home myself," Azazel said, "But I know you wish to prove your new talents. Use them to get yourself home." Isaac ran through the forest like a madman until he came upon some US troops liberating a little German village. Carefully, he selected a victim to further his cause. A low-ranking solider, one of the people he would have been fighting alongside, became his first victim. Isaac impersonated him flawlessly thanks to his new skills. He saved some of the man's blood, and once he was on US soil, Isaac cast a blood magic spell to successfully fake the man's death. With all loose ends tied up, he abandoned his false identity and returned home wearing his own face. 


	11. War Isn't Over When It Ends

Michigan, 1946

“Isaac!” Jonathan said, wanting to run towards him. “I was so worried, why didn’t you tell me you were coming home?” He warmly embraced his friend, but Isaac remained aloof. He didn’t even set his bag down, but awkwardly patted Jonathan’s back. For a moment, neither man spoke.

“Why did you worry?” Isaac said. “You thought I had been killed?”

“You were missing in action for months! How did you get home?” Jonathan couldn’t understand what had happened. He thought things had been mending before Isaac left, but now…He pulled away from him and looked his friend over.

“It’s good to be home,” Isaac said stiffly.

“What happened to you?” Jonathan looked him up and down. His friend didn’t look well. Jonathan could understand war aging a person, and Isaac was showing his age more. But it was more than that, something about his manner that worried Jonathan. Isaac’s eyes and mind seemed far away.

“I don’t really know where to begin,” Isaac said quietly.

“Wait,” Jonathan said, stepping directly in front of his friend and trying to meet his gaze. “Just start at the beginning. I know things have been terrible over there. But no matter what you’ve been through, you can tell me.”

“Can I?” Isaac said. His voice came out in a low hiss- Jonathan had never heard him speak that way before. “

“Of course. Please,” Jonathan said, sounding like a lost little boy, “Just talk to me.”

“I’m sorry,” Isaac replied, still sounding hollow. He walked right past Jonathan and up the steps to his room.

Jonathan followed, rushing to get his attention as he had for decades. He ran ahead and said: “Sit down. Start at the beginning. Here, give me your bag-“ He reached for it and Isaac slapped his hand away, hard.

“Don’t you dare!” Isaac cried. He could feel the weight of the book inside and knew Jonathan mustn’t see it…but he didn’t know where these feelings came from. It could have been his desire to build the clock, or the shame of realizing that if Jonathan knew about the clock, he would hate him.

Jonathan didn’t hit back, cry out, or even look angry. He just looked down and saw that Isaac had dropped his bag. Jonathan grabbed it before his friend could stop him, and ripped the top open. The Necronomicon fell right out. The weird, skeletal compass on the front cover revealed the book’s true nature.

“Isaac,” Jonathan said in a horrified voice. He sounded if he had just seen his friend shoot someone, or slit someone’s throat. “What is this? Where did you get it?” 

“You couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you?” Isaac snapped. “No, you had to make this about you.” He snatched the book out of Jonathan’s hands. “This is none of your business.” 

“How can you say that to me? We live here together. If you bring something like this into the house, it damn well is my business!” 

“Then leave,” Isaac replied calmly. His stare was so unflinching that it frightened Jonathan. He continued: “I’m telling you, not asking you. I’m going on a trip soon, so you’ll have several months to pack up.”

“What did you say?” Jonathan almost laughed in disbelief. Isaac wasn’t making any sense at all. “First you come home after being missing, then you bring that thing home, now you want me to get out and never come back…. after all this time?”

“It’s my family’s house. Not yours.” He held the book close to his chest, like a shield. Jonathan could have sworn Isaac had emphasized ‘my family’, but his voice had sounded so flat. It still sounded that way as he continued: “I’m going on a trip to trace my family lineage and in a few months, I’ll be back. It’ll be better if we don’t have to see each other when you get your things.”

“So that’s it, then?” Jonathan said. He almost wished Isaac would hit him again, or get angry and scream, or snap at him again. Anything was better than this coldness.

“That’s all.” There wasn’t a hint of emotion in those words, and Jonathan wanted to grab Isaac and shake him, to get him to act like a real person again. But somehow he sensed that even force wouldn’t work, so he said:

“Fine.” After that shaky reply, Jonathan grabbed his coat and hat and immediately headed out to see Florence. She listened to his story, made up her guest room, and gave him her best purple handkerchief to cry in.

The partnership of Izard and Barnavelt was now ended. Isaac left the following morning and didn’t return for another year.

While he was gone, Florence helped Jonathan move out. She had been just as stunned as he was by Isaac’s return and the change in him. At first, Jonathan had wanted to throw away all the memorabilia of the old act- the posters and the nickelodeon, old props. Some of it was consigned to the basement, while Florence asked to keep the most important pieces. Jonathan didn’t know why she wanted them, but he handed them over. Once he moved back into the house, Florence put them on display in her home. Until Isaac had died- for good-Jonathan never asked Florence why she had kept his old things and taken such care of them. It was because she always hoped that Isaac would apologize for what he’d done, and explain his actions.

Apologies were the furthest thing from Isaac’s mind. He continued to study the Necronomicon and similar texts, and to visit with his master. It wasn’t long, however, before his mind sought a certain kind of release.

“Master,” Isaac said, “if it’s not asking too much, could you return the gift you gave me? The woman who came to me, that night…did you mean for her to be my wife?” He hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind.

“Ah, my son, she has not been mortal for many years,” the demon replied. “Her form is unstable. She couldn’t survive our plans, but she wanted to help you.”

“But I don’t even know her name,” Isaac said softly.

“She doesn’t have one,” Azazel replied. “Not the way you do. Now, I looked into your mind when I chose you…if you want a companion, what about your friend, the purple witch? She’s not married anymore, ” the demon said leeringly.

“No,” Isaac said quickly. “I don’t think she’s one of us.”

Azazel frowned. “You know that we could make her more compliant, if that’s what you want.”

“She…I don’t want her involved,” he said, trying to be firm. “I want someone who will love me for who I am, and be my equal. Unless you can point me to her, I won’t go through with it.”

Azazel snarled and grabbed Isaac’s hand, where he had marked him. He drove the long nail on his thumb into the mark and pressed down. Isaac howled in pain.

“What is it they say?” Azazel hissed. “Never test the one who made you! And I made you what you truly are!”

“Yes, master!” Isaac cried. “Forgive me!”

“You will do as I say, without question,” Azazel said sharply. “And you will have what you desire.” He let go of Isaac and roughly dropped him. “Understood?” Wearily, Isaac nodded.

With that, the demon disappeared, bound for the place where far too many people are told to go.

“I really thought Izard would want us to bring him that purple woman,” Azazel muttered as he reached his domain. “His standards are damned high. You’ll need to help me, Lamia.”

“Do you want me to pose as her?” Lamia blinked and Florence’s face appeared on her form. “He trusts her,” she added in Florence’s voice. “He would do whatever I told him to.”

“We both know you couldn’t keep that up for long,” Azazel said. “You’re no use to me if your form’s unstable and you blink right out of existence. No, we have to find someone for him, someone already known to us.”


	12. Doomed to Fly High, Like a Crane With No Legs

It was too bad Jonathan and Selena couldn’t stand each other. They had more in common than they knew.  
Some say that the beings that lie beyond the heavens are vast, unknowable, and unforgiving. They cannot forgive, and they cannot do wrong, for they have no concept of right and wrong. They call these The Old Ones”- Cthulhu, Azazoth, Yog-Sothoth. Many had heard of the Old Ones, but one group grew in its hatred for them. They believed these creatures had created the universe, and brought the human race into a meaningless existence of suffering. They called themselves the Order of Iranon, named for one of the earliest followers of their philosophy.  
The Order wanted to somehow harness the power of the Old Ones and remake the universe into a better form, where people would not be doomed to suffer, die, or hate, and began to teach themselves magic.  
One man, a nihilistic writer named Charles Ward, became head of the American chapter of the Order in 1910. This was five years before Selena was born. In the dark times of the Great War and the Depression, Ward’s words spoke to many disaffected people and the Order grew. But a rift grew along with it. By the Depression, more and more people of color and different cultures wanted to join the Order. The treatment they faced each day had filled them with righteous anger.  
But Charles Ward was a proud and bigoted man. He felt anyone who was not racially ‘pure’, or who had belonged to a ‘backward’ religion was not fit to be part of the new world the Order wanted to create. In 1917, as the Great War loomed, the people rejected by the Order banded together and overthrew Ward- including Selena’s parents, Daniel and Arlene Rogers. As she grew older, little Selena became one of the figureheads of the movement thanks to her magical prowess. From the day she was born, she was taught that life was suffering, and unless she honed her magic, the human race would be doomed to exist in pain.  
M _y parents told me that life has no meaning but the one we create. They thought they could work past this; that they could work with others and use their powers to make a better future. Like most things, it didn't mean much. After a lesson like that- that no one is above betrayal- why did it surprise them that I wanted to leave? If I wasn't their daughter, I think they might have killed me for leaving, because I knew too much. It kept me alive, so I didn't argue. But I still betrayed them and I'm not sure why my birth changed that. As the old saying goes, I didn't ask to be born at all._  
The Order lived in the shadows, and Selena’s parents homeschooled her in the underground Order network of New York City. However, despite their teachings, their daughter had a lot of natural curiosity about the world. She was fascinated by people and would often study them. She had been taught that humanity was an experiment made by the Old Ones, and that emotions were just chemicals in people’s brains. Other children instinctually avoided her if they passed her on the street, which her parents were grateful for. Selena would respond by imitating the children and mocking them. She had no friends in the Order, with the other children being babies or several years older than she. But she had other interests to pursue- she was fascinated by music, and also by acting. That started at age five, when she ducked into a movie theater to hide from her mother. She liked how cool and dark it was inside, and how easy it was to study the people on the screen. Watching them made it easier for her to learn mimic the emotions of other people. Thanks to her gift, she could be charming or mockingly cruel- whatever the situation called for.  
The Order needed to keep their numbers and their magic growing. That was the meaning they had fashioned for themselves in a meaningless universe. To survive, the members worked whatever jobs they could and shared their money with their fellow members. Selena shocked her family on her 18th birthday by saying she wanted to become an actress. She assured them that she would not leave the Order, but her family wouldn’t hear of her putting anything ahead of the Order’s mission.  
“Then I’ll do it without you,” she said.  
 _I wanted to learn what made people tick, so I could get what I wanted from them. If life was pointless anyway, I decided that I might as well experience whatever I could, rather than living like a monk. I saw that life was worse for people who looked like me- especially if they were poor, unwell or uneducated. There's still some part of me that believes that's unfair. I'll never condone hatred. We’re all in this lie together. But when I tried to explain myself to people who felt oppressed, to share what I knew, their reaction was always the same. They were disgusted by me. I thought I was just telling them the truth._  
 _In terms of being poor or unwell, I guess we really are no better than animals. You take what you want, or you get left behind and die. I came to understand my parents were almost right. You can't trust anyone else to help you._  
Selena fell in with a group of the city’s experimental writers and artists, and soon earned their respect with her observational skills and unconventional outlook. Once, they vandalized a local college by painting anarchy symbols and other graffiti on the walls, breaking windows, and ripping up quite a few books in the library. They also managed to break into the science lab and free the animals inside, including a group of rats. Selena felt sorry for the animals- like her, they hadn’t asked to be brought into the world, or tormented by more powerful creatures. She decided to adopt one of the rats and named it Alice.  
And she continued to devote herself to her magic. But the one spell she had a hard time mastering was the one she wanted to learn most- the art of disguise.  
 _The Order had argued about the existence of the soul for a long time, ever since they first began studying magic. They had concluded souls were real, but not of interest to the Old Ones. Even if there was an afterlife, people would still be doomed to suffer here on earth, the Order thought. I decided to test this theory by performing blood magic, which had long been forbidden by the Order. Even some of the occult and underworld types I knew in the city were afraid to talk about it. They led me on a long chase to find an intact Necronomicon, the book of the dead. When I learned the steps of summoning a demon through blood magic, I was surprised to see that my efforts had worked: Azazel himself appeared to me, congratulating me on my hard work._  
He said: "You tried to learn how to shape-shift, my child. I was the one who first gave humans this power; when you study it, you invoke me. I can give you what you want, Selena.”  
 _I said: "First, tell me about the Old Ones, who live outside heaven and hell. Why did they create you, or any of the creatures there? And why would they leave humans behind- do they just not care?"_  
Azazel nodded. "Thoughtful questions. What you call 'the old ones' is in fact, consciousness itself. The idea and concept of thinking, making choices, and how choices create changes….because the conciousness’s true nature is unknowable, even to the greatest scientific minds. You might even say THAT is the highest power, not the being who opposes my kind. Someone chose to create you, and myself, and all of this. Now, you answer a question for me. What will you do with the power? You were raised to care for nothing in this world, least of all other people.”  
 _"I think I want it because I was told not to,” I said quietly. “But if I can be anyone, I can take control of the Order for myself, and then anything after that- the criminal underworld. The government. I can carry out the Order’s mission without anyone judging me or telling me I’m wrong. If there is no meaning to life, then we can find another way and make our own kind of life.”_  
“Brave words! You want to be other people, but believe me, you should be proud of who you are,” Azazel said. “You have courage, talent. You’re not beholden to anyone.” I smiled, lifting my chin proudly. “You could be the greatest actress of your day, or the leader of the Order. Anything you desire.” Then I sneered at him. His expression had changed, he was looking at me like a piece of meat as he said: "Tell me, what would you do for this power?"  
 _"You can’t have_ **me** _, if that’s what you’re thinking!" I said._  
"Nothing like that," he said reassuringly. "There is a like-minded man I want you to meet; a warlock who can help you hone your powers. I think he would be impressed with your mission."  
 _"You're not...giving me to him? As some kind of payment?" I asked._  
"No," the demon said. "You asked for the power; learning to use it would be part of my contribution. If you two loathe each other, I’ll find someone else to tutor you.”  
 _My eyes narrowed and I stood my ground. "No. If he doesn’t respect me, I’ll get rid of him myself.”_  
"Whatever you think is best," he said with a smile.


	13. The Same Strange and Morbid Preoccupations

Azazel had several female disciples that he introduced Isaac to. Isaac found fault with almost all of them, although sometimes this was justified: for example, the first candidate, Elizabeth, was regarded as the most beautiful woman in Europe. Initially, he was enchanted, but he soon realized that she was a 400 year-old blood magic user who acquired her beauty and youth by killing countless teenage girls. Isaac refused to propose to her on principle, saying that her victims had done nothing, and people like her were the reason he wanted to build the clock in the first place. "Like everyone else, they'd be better off if they never existed at all." _He's changed,_ Azazel thought. _Even Lamia's perfection wouldn't be enough for him now._ Isaac got on well enough with some of the women, especially the ones noted for their intelligence and their prowess in magic. But Isaac's instincts told him that none of them had what he was looking for. Not all of them approved of his plan for the clock, either -they were more interested in exploiting the world for all it was worth. He couldn't help remembering Florence and how it had felt to get to know her- not only being attracted to her, but how she'd been knowledgeable, charming, quick on her feet- able to command a room. He'd instantly respected her. Would he ever meet anyone like that again, who was willing to go along with the plan? 

Then, Selena Rogers's name came up on the list. "She's learning the art of disguise," Azazel said. "Her own magic is quite prodigious, but she was interested to hear about your experiences with the art. I thought you might like to give her a private lesson." 

The demon could have used his power to lead Isaac right to Selena, but Isaac insisted on meeting any woman as if they were two ordinary people. Once Selena agreed to the meeting, Azazel gave Isaac the location of the Order's secret headquarters in New York. To get there, you had to wend through an abandoned subway station to find a hidden door in the wall, then walk through a long tunnel that was lined with rats’ nests and sinister-looking industrial equipment: lots of tubes, ducts, wires and dials. When Isaac asked what all the equipment was for, Azazel said it was monitoring the pressure beneath the earth, as a sort of 'early warning' system if the Order's hopes for an apocalypse did come to pass. "It's all nonsense," he assured his acolyte. "Your work will cancel it out. But remember, you're meeting her as a suitor, not a competitor. You two have the same goal, so see where it leads you." 

Isaac reached the door at the end of the tunnel, having avoided the traps along the way with Azazel's help. A group of five disciples admitted him to see their leader, and he was shocked to see they were wearing what looked like modified gas masks. Some had the lenses poked out, one woman’s was painted like a skull, while one man’s had a third eye painted on the forehead.

‘We realize our appearance is strange. But we do this to protect our identities,” the skull-faced woman said. “Our leader has agreed to reveal her identity to you. We understand you and she are working for the same person. We do not know their name and will not ask for it. Our only wish is that you will respect our privacy.”

“Of course,” Isaac said. _So they don’t know about Azazel,_ he thought.

They told Isaac that if he revealed their secrets to anyone, he would be disposed of 'long before the rest of this doomed world.' The warlock found this all a bit melodramatic, but soon realized he'd probably said the same thing to far too many people. He followed the disciples to Selena's office. 

He had been expecting someone like Boudica, the British warrior queen. He was surprised to see that Selena could have stepped out of a movie magazine, with her coiffed hair, pearl earrings and tailored dress. She was sitting behind a big wooden desk, looking over an old manuscript. In one hand, she held a magnifying glass, and the other held a cigarette. She continued looking down at the paper, even as he was announced: “Mr. Isaac Izard is here to see you, Manager.”

“Thank you, you may go,” Selena said. The skull-faced woman nodded and left. Finally, Selena put down the magnifying glass and studied Isaac, who stood directly before her desk. “Thank you for accommodating us, Mr. Izard. We value discretion here.” Her voice was cool and clear. _She would be a fantastic radio actress,_ thought Isaac.

“Our…mutual friend speaks very highly of you,” he said, nodding slightly. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Miss Rogers.” He stuck out his hand and she paused to put her cigarette in the ashtray, then shook it.

“Thank you.” She indicated where he could put his coat and hat, and studied him. “Let’s get to the point. I want to know everything you can teach me, in as many lessons as it takes. Tell me, are you in disguise right now?”

“No,” he said. “For better or for worse, this is the real me.”

“I wouldn’t say that; you’re very good-looking,” she replied, as if she were dashing off a memo to her secretary.

‘So are you,” he said casually. He could play along, but it was the truth, he told himself. “But I assume this is for the benefit of the Order.”

“Yes. Being who I am…I have to carry out our plans in secret,” she said. The lesson began, and he was quite pleased to see that she was willing to try difficult transformations, such as a person who was much taller, larger, or older than herself. They didn’t always work- she would remain the same build no matter how many times she tried to change form. But he could tell she had studied and was giving it her all, even if she didn’t quite make it. She reminded him of the cadets in the army who failed the obstacle course and kept pushing, pushing, as they tried to jump or climb higher. He admired that tenacity. He was also impressed that she had managed to turn her familiar into a different animal, and keep it in that form for a whole day. This was a complicated spell to hold for such a long period, due to the unpredictability of animal behavior.

“You need to surrender yourself to the other form,” he said after five weeks of taxing lessons had passed. “That’s what Azazel taught me about disguise. You need to forget your outer body, even your inner life, and focus on who you want to become. In that moment, let the power take over your mind and let it lead. When you feel it take over, then you reel it in and bend it to your will.”

“He always said my sense of self was too strong,” said Selena. “That I was too proud and too stubborn to lose myself; not a natural for disguise, even though I’m an actor. I never believed him.” Isaac looked shocked, and she went on the defense: “I know, you don’t like me speaking against him. Blasphemy, I guess you’d say.”

“No,” he replied, gently cupping her face. “I was thinking that someone like you shouldn’t hide who they are.”

“Tell me, what am I like?” she asked. She reached out and pressed his hand to her lips.

“I could ask the same thing of you,” he said.

Her face lit up, flitting with interest and desire. “Let me show you something I’ve been working on.” She stepped back, tossed her head back, and her body shook like she was under the influence of some drug. Shuddering, writhing, her body began to grow and change. She had become his exact double. For the first time, her build had fully changed. At first it was like seeing his fetch again, and he was frightened. But her fingers- no, _his_ dexterous, pale fingers- reached out to run between the real Isaac’s legs, and he was fascinated. Selena, his double, leaned in and murmured against his cheek. “Tell me, are you a narcissist?” He heard his own voice say it, and it both thrilled and scared him. Because it wasn’t the flat, ugly sound that everyone hears when their own voice is recorded and played back. It wasn’t the raspy, ominous voice of the fetch. No, she had captured his sound perfectly- so perfectly that it matched how he heard himself at his best moments, when he was commanding the stage. He then felt the very odd sensation of being tightly held in his own arms, clutched by his chest. His form was her costume, and she wore it the way any other woman would wear a slinky gown. He couldn’t remember feeling so _dominated_ like this by anyone, and the person doing it was wearing his own face. She smoothed one hand over the slick black hair on her head- his hair, his head- and whispered, “Did I study you well?”

“Selena,” he whispered, and the wish was the action. Gasping with desire, he gave himself over to the power and allowed her beauty to blossom over his form. “I feel like I’ve always known you,” he said in her voice. “Or I wouldn’t feel so right, doing this.”

It was a bewildering sight, they both agreed, when your own form and face reach out to kiss you. But that was how their first kiss happened- and when they opened their eyes, they were shaking and shuddering, in their true forms once more. It was as if they were moving and thinking as one. All he could see was the two of them together.

“Are you all right?” she asked, and he noted the concern on his own face“Isaac?”

He put her hand to his chest, and she could see and feel her own breast rise and fall, brown and beautiful. “Do you…feel that?” he rasped. “It’s beating so quickly because of you. I’m so bewitched by you, I let you take control of me.”

She smiled back at him- no guile, no motive. “I can feel it.”

______________________________________________________________________________

He could hardly contain himself, and the moment the lesson ended, Isaac went to tell Azazel that the search was over. “I have to make her mine,” he whispered, sounding as if his desire had left him bleeding and wounded. “I know it will be her.”

Azazel smiled and patted Isaac’s back. “Good, my son. If you’re sure…”

“I’m certain.”

“Very good. We’ll recognize the marriage formally. After all, you’re family and so is she. Now that your future is assured, you can carry out our plans together.”

“I won’t let you down,” Isaac said.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

The next night, they made love, and it was everything either of them had hoped for. Her black silk stockings didn’t stand a chance. “I need to tell you something,” he said, wrapping a blanket around her shoulders as they sat up in bed.

She frowned and looked concerned. ‘What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. But so much of my life has been leading up to this,” he said. Selena thought he sounded like he might start crying. “And now I have to know. Did Azazel tell you about our plans?” She shook her head. “They do line up with your own. But I can only take one person with me.” Isaac told her everything that had happened in the woods that night, of his plans for the clock. “Will you be the one to share this world with me? I love you, Selena,” he said, and kissed her gently.

“You would really save me?” Selena whispered as he broke the kiss.

“You’re the only thing worth saving,” he replied, without a hint of irony. “I would do anything to make your life mean something.”

“So…” Even with her past, it was a lot to take in. “So, if we wait for the eclipse and set the earth running in reverse, we wouldn’t be affected.”

“Yes,” he said, as if he were exulting in prayer.

“There’d be no more hatred, no more fear,” she said, her voice catching. “What all of us always wanted. It would all just stop.” Selena kissed him as if the world was ending right at that moment. “Then you’ll spend eternity with me?” he said anxiously.

“I want to,” she whispered. She wasn’t sure what she was feeling, other than that it was just another reaction, just her body at its most base level. There was relief, but also…she was looking forward to something, something that would go on and on with her at the middle of it. Her partner in this was someone who really understood her goals, and cared for her. Was this…hope?

_No, I told myself. Hope is the most dangerous emotion of all. It’s the one that allows the lies to keep coming back – the lies of happiness, of something lasting forever- until you’re as complacent as a sheep. Don’t let yourself fall into that trap._

“I’m afraid,” Selena said. Isaac tried to comfort her, but she stopped him: “No, you don’t understand. I care for you and I can’t let myself see a future. There isn’t one, not for anybody. Even if this does work, what if there’s nothing for us there? What if we’re the only two people in the world and we can’t stand each other?”

“But we’d have a purpose,” he said, reassuring her. “We understand one another and we know the truth. Nothing in nature needs humanity. And if we know the truth, we’re the ones who have to carry out that plan.” Isaac reached over to the bedside table and took out a little velvet box. He opened it, and inside was a ring- not with a violet stone, but a gold band engraved with two entwining omegas. “We’d be the only ones in this world with a purpose at all. Selena, will you share that with me? Will honor it by marrying me?”

_You can’t, I scolded myself. Marriage is as broken as anything else in this world. Look how your parents resented being tied to each other when they learned the truth! He says he understands you, but does he mean it? If he did, he wouldn’t ask you to do this! But the truth itself seemed to matter less when I had no one to share it with. And I never was good at being told what to do. I said yes._


	14. I'd Be Better Off Dead Than To Live Without You

“He’s willing to give me the world for her, just think of it,” Azazel whispered. He had just finished performing Selena and Isaac’s wedding ceremony. Lamia had served as witness, but in disguise. She wore the form of a snakelike creature, and Isaac had not recognized the beautiful woman who had eased him into Azazel’s clutches.   
“I don’t think he would give up his wife,” Lamia mused.   
“I need her anyway.”   
“Won’t he find out his parents were killed trying to stop you?” She stopped him as much as her body would allow. “He can’t know that his parents hunted our kind. It would ruin everything.”   
Azazel smiled and shoved her away. “They’re farther away from their son now than ever. How could they tell him? That’s another piece of my plan. I have promised to help Our Lord win a very important wager with his enemy.”   
Lamia wanted to say: “You mean God,” but knew she would get a beating if she said that name.  
“Part of that process was to win Isaac over, so I need you to keep an eye on him and his young wife,” Azazel continued. “We must prove that love has the power to destroy all of humanity,” he explained. ‘The bet is as good as won from here.”   
“You lied to her too. There are no Old Ones,” Lamia said.   
“That Iranon,” Azazel scoffed. “He lied first. He wanted to rally people behind his petty grievances, like class or color. They were all doomed from the start.”   
“And you didn’t win Isaac over, Master,” she said softly.   
“What did you say to me?” Azazel hissed.   
“It was the war that made him want to end the world,” she said, more steadily. “He told me so himself. You didn’t send him to war. You didn’t start the war.”   
“Do not cross me, Lamia.”   
“He cried the first night I slept with him,” she said, wondering if she had ever done the same thing. “After I bedded him, he cried again. We’ve seen children cry that way, and not from your own doing.”   
Azazel laid his hand on her. Where a curving wisp of smoke had been, a hairy spider crept along the ground. It was tiny, but gruesome, with garish stripes and long pincers. “Silence, my girl. You’ll stay that way until I decide I need you,” he said.


	15. God Made Love Crazy So We Wouldn't Feel So Alone

1953  
After they married, Isaac and Selena spent several years traveling around the world, seeing what they could and gathering knowledge that would further their plans.   
“We might as well enjoy it while it lasts,” Selena was fond of saying.   
When arrived back home, Jonathan had already moved into Mrs. Zimmerman’s house. He’d been allowed to redecorate his bedroom, so it was the only non-purple room in the place. Jonathan and Florence were playing cards in the parlor when they looked out the window and saw a long black car stop in front of Isaac’s house. The car dropped off some luggage…and Isaac…and a young woman neither of them had seen before.   
“They’re wearing wedding rings!” Jonathan cried. “My god, he married a total stranger!”   
Florence didn’t tell Jonathan what she saw: that when she looked at Isaac, he resembled the description of the fetch he’d given her all those years ago. Or that the woman was only a stranger to them, and presumably not to Isaac.   
“Florence,” Jonathan said, sounding utterly hopeless, “I really thought that when he came back, he’d be fine, and things would go back to the way they were.”   
“The past can’t repeat itself,” Florence said, placing a hand on Jonathan’s arm. “Sometimes, that’s a good thing. Other times….we have to keep moving forward.”   
____________________________________________________________________________________  
Since Isaac had gone away to war, Jonathan had vowed to move past his feelings for his friend. Now, he had no idea how to unpack those feelings. Florence had advised him to meet the situation head-on.  
“We can’t go over there,” Jonathan said. “It got ugly last time. Besides, if I were Isaac’s floozie and a gal like you showed up, claiming to be an old friend of my husband’s, I’d chase you off the property with a gun.”   
Florence looked up from the cookies she was plating. “And what do you mean, ‘a gal like me?’”   
“I mean an annoying old sack of doorknobs,” Jonathan said. But of course, he knew about her past with Isaac.   
“Well if you’re going to call her a floozie, I’m glad you’re not going over there.” She put some cellophane over the cookies and tied them with a purple ribbon.  
“I could have called her a lot worse! If I ever had to duel her,” Jonathan hissed, “I’d hit her while her back was turned!”   
“You don’t want the Society to hate you all over again, so watch it,” Florence muttered.  
_________________________________________________________________________________-  
Florence was worried as she fussed over her present. Jonathan couldn’t go over there and start a confrontation after all this time, but she knew this was very personal for him, and he would want a faithful account of the events.   
“Jonathan, listen. I’ll wear my Egyptian brooch and you can listen to what Isaac and his wife are saying,” she said urgently. The brooch, which dated back to the days of King Ptolemy, was golden and shaped like a locust. Florence was analyzing it as part of her work as a consultant for the University of Gottingen, and had found that the brooch worked just like a microphone. Isaac had never seen it, so hopefully, he would not suspect anything. Jonathan readily agreed to the plan and Florence headed over to the house and knocked. She didn’t know what to expect when Isaac opened the door. When he did, he said:   
“Florence, it’s a relief to see you.”   
If he could act like nothing had changed, so could she. “Yes, you too. Well, there’s no point in beating around the bush,” she said, and looked him right in the eye. No false cheer, she told herself. He’d see through that. “You’ve been gone quite a long time, and now you’re a… married man. Are you finally home to stay?”   
“Oh,” he said, looking relieved. “Yes, we are.”   
She was dismayed to hear him not even ask about Jonathan, but continued to be polite. “I’m happy you found someone.” This, at least, was true.   
“Thank you, Florence. I knew you’d understand. She’s wonderful,” Isaac said, his breath catching.   
“And that’s everything, isn’t it?” She tried to remember her husband and be sincere. Who knew if this woman had any idea of Isaac’s dealings? Could he have kept his identity as a warlock a secret from her? If she could just get a minute alone with his wife and assess the situation…  
Isaac kept his hand behind his back. “Yes, it certainly is. We are still moving in.”  
Florence stepped forward. “I won’t stay long. Really, we’re very happy for you,” Florence said. “I would love to say hello, if she’s at home?”   
Isaac opened the door a little more. “Thank you again. I do appreciate that. Ah…why don’t you just wait here, and I’ll go upstairs and get her.”   
Florence stepped inside. It felt cold and austere in the house, as if the picture of Isaac’s parents had come to life. The stained-glass window showed Isaac’s insignia with the two eyes, and they seemed to be glaring at Florence. “Aye, aye,” she muttered flippantly. Her sarcasm didn’t change the feeling that she was being watched.  
_____________________________________________________________________  
Isaac tentatively entered the bedroom.   
“Who was at the door?” Selena asked as she put her clothes away in her armoire.   
“Well, she’s still here,” he replied, and began explaining who Florence was. Selena frowned and plopped into the chair in front of her vanity.   
“You told me your ‘friends’ wouldn’t understand,” she said, arms folded in front of her. “About us. About our plans. That you were finished with them.”   
“I’m not going to tell them anything, but if you just say hello, we won’t seem suspicious.”   
“And why would a woman come visit you by herself?” she cried. Isaac felt more numb than he had in a long time. If Selena really loved him, couldn’t she understand that there was nothing to be jealous of? He knew he had cut ties with Jonathan and stopped contacting Florence, but he had been pleased to see that Florence had responded with her usual dignity and pretended nothing was wrong. Selena continued: “They’re onto us, and he sent her to do his dirty work. You can’t let them get in our way. He doesn’t still have a key to the house, does he?”   
“No,” Isaac said. Granted, Jonathan and Florence could still use magic and get into the house if they had to, but Selena didn’t seem to be thinking clearly. “Really, they don’t suspect anything. They’re living together now.”   
“Oh,” Selena said, exhaling quickly. “That’s different, then.” Isaac was dead certain that Jonathan and Florence weren’t living together as more than friends, but it was better for Selena to forget her jealousy. She continued: “I’ll come down in a minute. I’m not quite ready yet,” she said. She carefully arranged her makeup and brushes in front of her and began to make up her face.   
Isaac came up behind her and lightly kissed her on the cheek. “Nonsense, you already look lovely.”   
She smiled at him from the mirror. “Thank you. I’ll be right down.” As Isaac left the room, Alice skittered onto the vanity table and nudged a pot of eyeliner over to her mistress’s hand. “Don’t worry, Alice,” she said as she petted the rat’s head. “He won’t let anyone distract him.”  
Back at the front door, Florence was trying to work her way past awkward pleasantries:  
“I’m just glad you’re all right,” Florence said. “I wanted to tell you that when you first got home.”   
“Thank you,” he said softly. “It’s good to see that you’re well. It really is.”   
“Oh there you are, darling. Won’t you introduce us?” a clear, confident voice said. Florence looked up, and there was Isaac’s bride, quite a bit younger than he was. She was wearing an emerald-green hostess gown and matching slacks, and her dark hair was in a fancy updo. She deliberately took her time coming down the stairs, as if she were entering a scene. Even Florence had to admit she was very beautiful.   
“Of course, darling,” Isaac said. He took her hand when she got to the bottom of the stairs. “Selena, this is a very old friend of mine, from the United Magician’s Society- Florence Zimmerman. Florence, this is my wife, Selena.”   
Selena held out her hand and smiled winningly, and the two women shared a rather stiff handshake.   
“Congratulations to you,” Florence said. “I hope you and Isaac will be very happy here.”   
“Where’s your umbrella?” Isaac asked, and in that moment, he sounded almost the way Florence remembered him. “You always have it with you.”   
“Oh, I don’t need it just now,” Florence said, as brightly as she could.   
“That’s where she keeps her wand,” Isaac told Selena.  
“That’s right, you are one of us,” Selena said. Florence noticed her posture looked a little more defensive, as if she expected Florence to fight her.   
“It’s always nice to meet another practitioner,” Florence replied.   
“Likewise,” Selena said.  
“Selena is very gifted,” Isaac said softly, taking his wife’s hand. “She’s more powerful than I ever was.”   
“That’s high praise indeed!” Florence said, trying not to get alarmed at how easily that kind of power could be misused. Her eyes widened when she heard a loud squeak and a rat popped out of Selena’s pajama pocket.  
“Oh that’s Alice, my familiar,” Selena said. “She’s just a little nervous around strangers. I’ll take her in the kitchen.” She took the cookie plate away from Florence and with a steely glance, she said: “Thank you for the cookies, Florence. It was nice meeting you.” Out she swept, with the rat ducking back in her pocket.   
Florence frowned as soon as Selena’s back was turned- it was very clear she had just been told to leave. I’ll decide that myself, she thought. “Isaac,” she whispered, “What happened to you four years ago?”   
“Nothing you would understand, I’m afraid.” His voice sounded cold and it was impossible to tell what was in his mind. It was all Florence could do not to scream at him.   
“How can you say that? You remember why I came here to America, don’t you?”   
His eyes briefly darted over to her arm. “I didn’t mean that. It has nothing to do with what happened to you. It is good to see you recovered.”   
“Does Selena know about what happened? About how you feel?”   
Isaac leaned towards her slightly and said: “Unless I’m with her, I don’t feel much of anything anymore.”  
Florence knew what that sounded like. If things had been like they had in the past, she and Jonathan would have done whatever it took to help Isaac. But even though things were different now, she had to at least reach out. “Isaac, whatever happened to you during the war, you can talk to me about it. I’ll listen.”   
“You’re a psychiatrist now?” he said bitterly.   
“I think I’m someone who understands. It’s something I’ve struggled with myself. Please, talk to someone. You need help.”   
“I think you should leave,” Isaac said, not meeting her eyes.   
Florence nodded and left for her house without saying goodbye. When she got in, she saw Jonathan holding up the pedestal the brooch had been on. He was holding it up to his ear as if it were a telephone.  
“What was that ungodly noise?” he said. “The familiar.”   
“It’s a rat,” Florence said. “If she has a familiar, that’s a lot of extra power she’s got to throw around.”   
‘Snakes eat rats,” he said darkly. “You should bring Snakespeare over there.” He looked up. “I know this sounds ridiculous, but you don’t think she…could be a demon? He could be under a spell.”   
“This is no time for jokes,” Florence said. “And she’s as human as you or I. Their relationship isn’t what changed him. There’s nothing we can do but accept his choice.”   
“But what about the book I saw? He must still have it.”   
Florence pulled off her brooch and frowned at it. “That…is not something we can just accept.”


	16. I Have No Guilt to Haunt Me

Three Days Later, 1954   
Selena took a long drag on her cigarette. Isaac had kicked the habit ever since the war, and he’d asked her not to smoke in the house. So she was outside on the front walk while Alice (who hated the smell of cigarettes) played in the living room. She was very careful not to face Florence’s house as she flicked the ash of her cigarette on the ground, and stopped when she realized the woman who lived across the street was walking towards her. She was a plump, middle-aged lady, leading a fluffy little dog on a leash.  
“Oh hello,” the woman said. Selena had no desire to speak to her, but it was important that they not arouse too much suspicion. As she was about to excuse herself and go back inside, the woman babbled on: “You must have just moved in! It’s such a relief to see a new face around here. The bearded yahoo who used to live here, I thought he would never leave. All he ever did was set off fireworks in that old house and scare my little Marmalade.” The dog yipped, hearing its name.  
Selena allowed herself a wry smile. This woman was nosy, but her reaction to Jonathan was pretty funny. “I see. I’m not too fond of him myself. Sorry to burst your bubble, but he’s living in the purple house up the road.”  
“Oh, I know. What a pity,” the woman said, and Selena laughed inwardly at her disappointed expression. “At least he’s quieter, and I don’t have to see him whenever I look out my window. That Mrs. Zimmerman must keep him on a pretty tight leash, but I don’t know what she sees in him.” The woman looked a little flustered and extended her hand. “Oh, excuse me, where are my manners? I’m from across the street there- Kate Hanchett’s my name.”   
Selena gave her a cool handshake in return. “Selena Izard.”   
“Oh!” The woman beamed at her. “You’re Isaac’s wife. Well, he’s another story. It was high time he found the right girl.”   
“Thank you,” Selena said graciously. “I have to be going now-“   
“That old house of yours is so big,” she said, looking at Selena’s home. Marmalade’s head darted anxiously back and forth. “I hope you two plan on filling it with some children!”  
“I really do have to be going,” Selena said sharply. “Goodbye.”   
“Oh, there I go again. I am sorry.” She reached out to touch Selena’s arm, adding: “I had no business saying that, I know.”   
“You certainly didn’t. Please let go of my arm,” Selena said.   
Mrs. Hanchett did, but kept right on going: “I was talking more to myself than you, that was my mistake. My husband passed away before we could have any kids.”   
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Selena muttered. She turned and marched up the front steps to her house.  
“Goodbye now,” Mrs. Hanchett said brightly. “I’ll be seeing you around, I hope.”  
Selena slammed the door shut behind her and walked into the kitchen, where Isaac was making a pot of morning tea. He held out a cup to Selena, who thanked him and sat down, gripping her cup tightly.   
“What was Mrs. Hanchett saying to you?” he asked.  
“Nothing we need to worry about,” she replied. She took a dainty sip of her drink, then blew on it. “But we’d better watch her. She’s nosy.” Alice popped out of one of Isaac’s galoshes by the back door, and ran over to the table. Selena picked her up and started chatting softly to her.   
“She always was,” Isaac said. He sat next to his wife and placed his hand on her knee.   
“I was thinking, it might be a good opportunity for me to keep an eye on the house once you leave,” Selena said, placing Alice on her shoulder.   
“How do you mean?” Isaac said. He lowered his voice: “To…make the key?”   
“Why not?” she said. “It’d be the easiest way. We can’t allow for error.”   
He put his mug down and squeezed Selena’s hand. “You’re right, we can’t.”   
________________________________________________________________________________________  
They say that the more you isolate yourself from others, the more unbalanced you become. Isaac and Selena’s mental state was somewhat reflected in their chosen hobbies. After Jonathan moved out, Isaac devoted himself even more to his automaton collection. His former friend had always found the dolls a little ‘creepy’; now that he had no one to mock him, Isaac was building his own. What troubled Selena is that he thought of the dolls as his children. He never referred to them as such, but he had given each a name and a personality, and frequently talked to them as if they were alive. She was worried that he expected her to provide him with a real child. Selena had opined not long after Isaac’s proposal that “the last thing this world needs is to be choked with more children- that means more suffering.” He had agreed, but it seemed to her that he’d only said what she wanted to hear. He insisted on having their wedding portrait taken with his father’s old automaton and wearing his father’s wedding suit. For luck, he’d said, despite not knowing much about his parents’ marriage.   
As for Selena herself, she became fascinated by medical textbooks and anatomical models. She was teaching herself to draw by copying medical illustrations.   
“Maybe I would’ve been a doctor in another life, Alice,” she said one day as she executed a sketch of the female reproductive system. “At the very least, an artist in charcoal, rather than my own flesh.” She looked at her drawing, a diagram where the baby had come in the wrong way, feet exiting first. “I hope I never have to worry about these things,” she muttered.   
Once television became widely available in homes, Isaac found the device piqued his curiosity. He and Selena did miss going to movies, so this seemed ideal for their privacy. Isaac found a way to rig up the house to project whatever was being watched on the closest set nearby. This was at the house behind his own, where “Captain Midnight” was in heavy rotation. The show had amateurish acting, terrible effects (even by the standards of early television) and overblown dialogue: “The enemy is mine! HA HA HA!” Isaac hadn’t found this kind of simple, almost childlike joy in something for years. First, he watched “Captain Midnight” just to laugh at it, but then got emotionally invested in the plot. Soon, he couldn’t get enough of those cardboard sets and ridiculous plot twists. He would check at all hours to see if the show was on, much to the chagrin of his wife.   
“Not this again,” she sighed, watching over his shoulder. “Don’t they know acting is about observing and analyzing human behavior? These people are a joke.”  
‘Why do you think I love it?” he said wryly, patting her hand.  
“I don’t see why you wanted one of these machines in the first place,” she replied. “They’re really for children, it seems like.”  
“Nothing wrong with that,” he said. “We were all children once.”  
“Please turn that off,” she said, setting Alice down from her shoulder and onto the nearby desk. “I need to ask you something important.” He looked a bit disappointed, but it was unlike her to make a fuss over nothing. He quickly waved his hand and the projection switched off. Selena sat beside him on the couch, deep in concentration as ever. “Answer me honestly. Do you want us to have a child?” she said.  
Isaac looked very guilty. “Darling, I’m sorry if you were worried about that. You’re the only one I would even consider such a thing with. If it were to happen by accident, I wouldn’t blame you at all. I’d try to make the best of things.”  
“You know I’m not pregnant,” she said indignantly. She knew how to take care of such matters herself. “I just see how you talk to your creations, how you lose yourself in these childish stories- what am I supposed to think? Is what we have not enough for you?”  
“No, no,” he said reassuringly. “I know that what we have is all there is, believe me. You made it very clear how you felt about having a child, and I respect your choice.” He looked as if he had receded into the couch a little. “I doubt I’d be much of a father anyway, since I never knew my parents.”  
“You wouldn’t lie to a child,” she said slowly. “That alone puts you ahead of most people. I know you mentioned adoption once, since we wouldn’t be responsible for bringing another life into the world. Well, I thought about it...”  
“You’re saying yes?” he asked, barely above a whisper.  
“I’m saying maybe,” she replied, sitting up and composing herself. “If we find the right one, if we started over.” She stopped herself and hurriedly tried to explain: “Not creating one, obviously, but if we wiped his mind clean, the way we’re doing with the clock. That might be a different story than what I ruled out.”  
He looked up at her. “Oh, darling. Do you mean it?”  
“I’m open to the idea,” she demurred.


	17. A Lovely Woman, Until I Killed Her

**The Following Takes Place after Isaac’s Initial Death**

Mrs. Hanchett opened her eyes and let out a little scream. _Damn,_ Selena thought.

“W-what do you want?” she whispered, her eyes wide with terror.

“This is a dream,” Selena said hurriedly, waving her hand. “You’re going to go back to sleep.” She started muttering a spell.

“Please,” Mrs. Hanchett said weakly. The sleeping spell was working, but to Selena’s amazement, the woman was actually fighting it, reaching out as if to try and take the knife. “You... don’t have to…” She fell back on the pillow, as if in a faint. Selena looked at the knife in her hand, then put it down. She could take the blood and bone more neatly later, she told herself. Isaac would have told her to do it as quickly as possible.

 _Well, he’s going to be away for some time,_ she told herself. _I can make my own decisions._ She cut off a long lock of the woman’s hair, then set the knife down. As she was pocketing the hair, Mrs. Hanchett’s dog came bounding into the room, and while it was mid-yap, Selena had cast a spell that reduced the animal to dust. She didn’t even look at the little gray pile as she picked up the pillow next to Mrs. Hanchett and held it over the woman’s face. It didn’t take long for the older woman to go still. Selena put the pillow down and looked over the form she was going to wear for the next year.

“You got to go home early,” she said softly. She reached over and closed Mrs. Hanchett’s eyes. Now, it was time to make the key.

Interlude: _I Feel No Wrong Intent_

_After posing as Mrs. Hanchett for a week, I decided to test my disguise on the two of them. “Ready, Alice?” I asked her. Alice squeaked, sounding angry, but I assured her it wouldn’t be long. “You like being bigger, don’t you? No cat in the world would come after you. Disguises keep us safe,” I said, patting her head. She became the little dog- I didn’t dare change out of my disguise during the day- and I looked myself over in the mirror._

_Looking at some old photos of Mrs. Hanchett- Kate- from her wedding, she had been very beautiful, just as pretty as any actress I had ever worked with. It was strange to me: if people knew what I knew, they’d look down on her for growing older and changing. If they’d met her when she was young, they’d fall at her feet. To say nothing of how people reacted to the real me over the years: young; dark; beautiful, at least to the one person I cared about._

_Didn’t they realize none of it mattered? In the end, we’d all be dust. I noticed Florence and Jonathan were outside, so I took the ‘dog’ for a little walk and went right up to them._

_“I heard there was some sort of accident over there,” I said, trying hard to mimic Kate’s exact inflections._

_“The furnace,” Florence said, a little too quickly. “It blew out. We were too late to save them.”_

_“Oh, how terrible,” I replied. What an awful liar Florence was! “I understand you two had a falling out?” I said to Jonathan. That did it- he went red. Just you try to say anything bad about my husband and me, I thought._

_“I wish I’d made it in time,” he muttered. “If not for his sake, then for hers. We’re trying to get in touch with her family, but we can’t find them.”_

_“Her….family?” Why would they do such a thing for me? “I thought you didn’t even know her,” I said. Hopefully, I just sounded surprised._

_“I barely knew her,” Florence said. “And he was a former friend, at best- but she didn’t deserve to- to die so suddenly.” Her voice faltered. Kate would have done something, but I wanted to hear what she would say. “I just wish we could have warned her.”_

_Jonathan patted her shoulder. “Florence, there’s nothing we can do now. I know if you knew what was happening, we would have saved her.”_

_“Excuse me,” I said, and did my best to hurry away. I couldn’t let them see the look on my face. Did they really just admit that they would have tried to save my life? But they had no reason to. They’d been jealous of me. Was it because they had wanted to turn their backs on Isaac, and this gave them validation for doing it? Could it be…they really did care?_

_“I wish I knew, Alice,” I said as I got inside and closed the door. “But there’s no point in asking more questions when they won’t be here to answer me.”_

_It was this world that had to turn back, not me._


	18. Maybe That's the Cause of Emptiness And Tears....Is It Too Late?

**This chapter takes place right after Uncle Jonathan touches the clock and turns into a baby, and Isaac and Selena tell Lewis to climb up to the turret and join them. It is a replacement for the ending of the film.**

_1955_

You already know the rest of this story, or at least you thought that you did. But in a world of infinite possibilities, who’s to say there is only one ending?

Isaac had offered Lewis a way out. Lewis knew this was his last chance as he grabbed Uncle Jonathan, or what was left of him, and headed up to the turret. Maybe he could find a way to shut the clock down from up there. There had to be some controls where the Izards could get to them. When he got there, he wanted them to know he wasn’t giving into their demands.

"I’m here,” Lewis said. “But can't you change him back?" Lewis begged, holding up the wretched, babbling creature that his uncle had turned into. "Please! I'll do anything you want." 

"Oh, yes you will," Selena said. She was holding something that looked like a lit candle- a hand shaped candle. Lewis recognized it as a Hand of Glory, since his Uncle had showed him one that used to belong to Isaac. This device was capable of making someone freeze in place, just from looking at it. She must have made a backup, Lewis thought as his horror rose- now his body was paralyzed except for his eyes and mouth. And he saw that the severed hand looked a lot like Mrs. Hanchett's. 

"Very well done, darling," Isaac said, patting his wife's shoulder. He looked down at the hairy baby in Lewis's arms in disgust, even as maggots were burrowing their way through his own scalp. “As for this thing, get rid of it.”

Selena snatched the creature away. Lewis saw it fall over the side, and he saw the red electricity shoot up. There was no sound of something hitting the gears, but he realized that Uncle Jonathan was gone, and he cried out in pain. Like his parents, he hadn’t even had time to tell Uncle Jonathan goodbye, or that he loved him. Not before his Uncle was turned into that awful thing, and Lewis was nailed in place like a horseshoe on the front porch. Now the Izards would probably kill him, the way bad guys were always trying to do to Captain Midnight. But Captain Midnight always managed to get away, and Lewis couldn’t even move. _No one can stop my mind from racing,_ he thought frantically.He had to keep going, this was the only way to save everyone. So, Lewis asked himself: wasn’t this the part where Captain Midnight always asked the bad guys what their plan was, to distract them? “You killed him… But why would you save me, out of everybody in the whole world?” Lewis said.

"We didn’t kill him. We unmade him. But that’s a fair question," Isaac said, gazing out the window. There were strange lights on the horizon, and what sounded like rumbling thunder. Lewis wished for a moment that he could see more of what was happening, then reconsidered. Maybe it was better not to know, if there was nothing he could do to stop it. Isaac kept going: "When I went to war, no one told me what I was getting into. We might as well give you the explanation I never got." He looked over to his wife and indicated she should begin. 

"Did you hear me, when I said that I liked being your mom?' Selena asked. 

Lewis nodded. He didn't want to think about what had just happened to his uncle. The terror that came with being paralyzed was almost a comfort- something he could focus on instead. "You meant it? Is that why you saved me?"

"I did mean it," she replied. The floor rumbled beneath them. Was it the clock moving faster, or something that was occurring outside? "I liked pretending to be your mother because I thought it would be good practice for when Isaac and I had a child of our own." 

“We didn’t exactly plan to be parents, not together," Isaac said softly. "But I really thought we could make it work, if we tried our best." The warlock sounded so sad and alone that Lewis thought he could almost hear the person his family had once been friends with: the man in the old movie he'd seen at Mrs. Zimmermann's. Selena went to comfort her husband. As she embraced Isaac, Lewis could faintly see how she had managed to act so much like his mother. How could he feel pity for people who had done such evil things? “You see, we didn’t want to bring any more children into a world like this one,” Isaac said. “But if we could adopt a child, one who had no family of his own-“

"You want to adopt me?" Lewis asked. "You'll never replace my family- not my parents, not my uncle and Mrs. Zimmermann, not anyone!”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Isaac said calmly. “Wiping someone’s memory is complex magic, but Selena and I should be able to manage it together.”

The horror of what this meant tore into Lewis like a wound. “Even if you take my memories away, you still killed my uncle, and Mrs. Hanchett! You'd be a terrible family!” He remembered just a few minutes ago Selena had been laughing at him, making jokes like “Give mommy a kiss.” She had reminded him of the female villains that showed up on “Captain Midnight” from time to time, who would say things like “Men always fall at my feet, ha ha HA!”; then they’d press a button on the wall, and Captain Midnight would fall into a pit of crocodiles or something. When they did it, those lines were funny. Lewis had been afraid when Selena taunted him that way, because he realized that his mother and his new neighbor were actually a stranger, who was enjoying his fear. But it seemed her laughing and joking was an act too. Now she was angry, but her voice was soft. Her hands twitched as if she’d been burned. Lewis was sure he was more frightened of her now than when she’d turned into his mother to mock him. “We offered you a new life. One where you didn’t have to miss anyone you lost- and you tell us ‘no’? How dare you.” Selena got on her knees and put her hands on Lewis’s shoulders. “You should trust me by now. We would never hurt you. Even when we put you in that cage, we were going to save you and let you go with us.”

He had nothing left to lose now- even his happy memories and his identity would be gone. Maybe that’s what made Lewis brave, and spit the words at them: "I wish you had let me die. At least then I could be with the people who really love me.”

Isaac looked very cross now. Even more than Uncle Jonathan had when he found out Lewis had touched the forbidden book.

“He’s not wrong,” Selena whispered. “But that’s the pain talking.”

"Let me handle this,” Isaac said, and then he addressed Lewis: “I have one last spell to cast before everything outside this house is gone. When it's complete, we'll be the only family you've ever known. Memories are painful things, and you'll be free of them." 

"Pain helps us learn to survive, Isaac. It’s not an excuse for dragging everyone down with you.” The Izards turned suddenly, but Lewis knew that voice. A bolt of purple magic hit Selena’s hand of glory, and she cried out in pain as she dropped it.

“Mrs. Zimmerman!” he cried, finally free.

"Put that down," Selena said, pointing to the purple umbrella. “Lewis, we’ll be the only family that can’t leave you. No one will love you as much as we will.”

"Manipulating him already? Fine parents you’d be,” Florence said. She went over to Lewis, keeping her umbrella raised. Her face was bruised and bloody.“It’s all right,” she whispered to her young charge. “I’m here now.”

“You don’t look well, Florence,” Isaac said mockingly.

“Neither do you. Maybe you’ve become what you always were, inside.” She said it so plainly, even Lewis could see that it was different from the way she had teased Uncle Jonathan. “I tried to help you once,” Florence said. “I would have helped you both. Now I have no choice but to stop you.”

“You don’t have much time left,” Selena cried. “The boy is ours now.” 

“Jonathan’s already gone,” Isaac said sharply. “Accept it, Florence. You’ve lost.”

“Go to hell,” Florence replied. “And this time, I’ll make sure you both stay there.”

Lewis was so proud of her, and he knew her family would be too. He couldn’t imagine a braver way to face this.

“You’ll pay for that,” Selena said, getting ready to strike.

“Get behind me, Lewis,” Florence cried, “Cover me!” And now Lewis was very glad he had Mrs. Zimmerman in front of him, because Isaac was giving his wife some advice of his own:

“Grab the boy,” he hissed. “I’ll take care of her.” Isaac strode over to Florence and made a slashing motion in the air toward her umbrella. The wind that he had shot at Uncle Jonathan’s fire filled the air. Florence aimed at him, but Lewis was frightened- Isaac was going to break the umbrella! What would Uncle Jonathan try to do in this situation? Lewis ducked- and a good thing too, because Selena was diving towards him. Lewis went over to the balcony nearby, his legs wobbling beneath him. He concentrated and summoned a strand of the red electricity that powered the clock. It was just big enough for him to compress in his hand and snap, like a wet towel in the locker room. Bullies used that to snap him all the time, it was called a ‘rat tail.’ He snapped Selena- who ducked, leaving Isaac Izard to be the one who got snapped by a magical “rat tail.” He groaned as the energy rained down on his back.

“Bravo, Lewis!” Florence cried, laughing in relief. Lewis didn’t stop to bask in the praise, though, and reloaded his electric energy as Selena struggled to get up.

“You wretched boy,” Isaac hissed.

“My Uncle taught me that. Not you,” Lewis said, holding the ball of electricity up like a shield.

“Your fight’s with me,” Florence called to Isaac. “Come on, Isaac. I always knew you’d challenge me one day.”

“I’ll do it,” Selena said, but Isaac held up his hand.

“Let’s observe the rules. We focus on the challenge. You don’t touch my wife, I don’t touch the boy, they don’t harm each other until this is over.”

“Fair enough.”

He waved his hand and an invisible grip seized Florence’s throat, choking her. Her face grew red, but she managed to raise her umbrella enough to shoot a spark out of it and dispel the grip. She aimed the umbrella at Isaac’s chest, and he tried to force the magical grip over to her hands and make her drop the umbrella. Her knuckles were white and straining as she held on.

“Don’t drop it!” Lewis cried. But then he cried out- Selena grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and was hauling him to the balcony, above the clock gears.

“Damn your rules,” Selena said. “Let my husband go or I drop him.”

“Leave the boy,” Isaac said sharply, turning to his wife. “Selena!”

“I’m doing this for you!” she barked. But in the midst of their argument, Florence muttered a spell and cast a shock of purple energy at Isaac’s back. He was knocked to the ground like the feeble, half-rotting creature he truly was, no longer commanding. His ruined face had all the marks of one who’d been betrayed by someone they used to love. Selena left Lewis and ran over to her husband, but Isaac raised his head and glared at Florence. His glasses were broken, although not fully, for he muttered a spell and was able to raise his body off the ground before Selena could do anything for him. “You hit me while my back was turned,” he said. “You broke the first rule of any practitioner!”

“Well, it was your wife who said ‘damn your rules, and you were ready to damn the whole world,’” Florence replied. She pressed the end of her umbrella to Isaac’s throat, pinning him to the balcony. Selena was trembling in anger; she knew that Florence had the equivalent of a loaded gun to her husband’s head, and it was too dicey to go after him or threaten Lewis again. Florence went on: “I will never, ever stop fighting for my daughter, or for Lewis. And do you know why?”

“Love?” Isaac said condescendingly, hissing like a cat.

“That- and I’ve seen much worse than you. Goodbye, Isaac.” She rammed the umbrella into his eye, then upward. His body was knocked back over the railing. Florence muttered a spell and yanked her umbrella out as Lewis looked away. His body twisted in disgust. Florence turned back to her opponent, looking a bit ill. “You can’t hurt that boy. You know that, Selena.” The clock ground to a halt, but no one seemed to notice. They were tense, wondering who would be next to die.

“Never mind him,” she said. She raised her hands, trembling like they wanted to choke someone. “I’ll bring Isaac back. Right now there’s only you and me.”

“There’s too little left of him for you to bring back, even if you walk away,” Florence told her. “He’s stuck in the gears. There’s no point to you fighting me.”

“There is no point to any of this!” Selena screamed. “Living, loss, murder, anything. Why should it continue?” She looked lost- not like she was about to cry, but like she was desperately trying to save someone’s life. Maybe, Florence thought, she was trying to save herself. “You’ll never understand why we did it, I know that. But after all you’ve been through, do you really have no idea how we felt?”

“I wanted to stop you because I do know,” Florence said quietly. “I’ll admit it. I wanted to leave the world behind when my daughter died.” Selena nodded. She seemed to be waiting for a further response.

Lewis walked up to her. “You don’t have to do this, Mrs. Izard.”

She glared down at him. “Could you undo what my husband saw in the war just by talking to him?” Lewis shook his head, trying to rally. Selena interrupted him: “I thought I had nothing to lose. Now I’ve lost my husband for good. You even took my pet, my one friend, from me. I lost my chance to undo every one of humanity’s mistakes, because my husband promised we would do it together. Are your words going to fix any of that?”

“No,” Lewis said. “You shouldn’t have made the clock, but I’m sorry you had to lose someone you loved…”

“Your words mean nothing. You are nothing,” she told Lewis softly, glaring at him.

“Selena!” Florence barked.

“Your life will always be nothing,” she shot at Lewis, ignoring Florence. “It might have been something, if we raised you like we had wanted. But you had to go and ruin that too.”

“You have no _right_ to tell him that,” Florence said, with a vitriol neither of them had ever heard before. She was pointing her umbrella at Selena, still stained with Isaac’s blood. “If Isaac left him alone and dealt with me, you do the same.”

“There really is nothing left for me if Isaac’s gone for good,” Selena said bitterly. “Just kill me, if that’s what you want.”

“I…” Florence gasped, as if she were in pain. “I didn’t want to kill anyone.”

Selena looked at her and shook her head slowly. “Your pain isn’t real this time. You already took one life tonight.” She turned around and looked down, deep into the gears of the clock. Her husband’s body was crushed in the gears, reduced to an even worse state. “I remember when you thought I died, Florence. You said you would try to look for my family. You didn’t find them because they didn’t want me back. I guess they were right all along. There was nothing for any of us in this world.”

Lewis remembered what Uncle Jonathan had said to him about being a black swan, so he called: “Isaac was your family. He loved you.”

“And I love him,” Selena whispered. “I always will.” She turned back to Florence and Lewis and looked them in the eye, standing straight. “I’m glad he took the clock down with him. I wouldn’t undo a single thing we’ve done. Especially not for you.” She stepped back, and threw herself over the railing. Lewis screamed, covering his eyes and crouching down. Florence dashed over to her, but she was once again too late- she heard her fall, with a loud metallic thud, and a muffled groan. Florence was able to look over the railing- it was true, she had seen worse. Selena had landed with her eyes open and her neck bent. The angle was all wrong and she was deathly still. “Lewis,” she called. “You’re safe now. She’s gone.”

She turned around and the boy rose, his little face red and wet with tears.“Mrs. Zimmerman!” She ran and held him tightly as he threw his arms about her. “Thank you for saving me.”

“I always would,” she whispered. “I’m so proud of you.” There was a metallic crunching sound, and they both pulled away in fear. “Lewis, stay here,” Mrs. Zimmerman whispered. “Use your electricity if you have to.” She looked over the railing once more, and saw Selena’s body being swallowed by the gears, as Isaac’s had. There were sparks shooting up, and pieces of the clock were breaking apart. It seemed to be giving its last death rattle, now that both its creators were gone. She shuddered, raised her umbrella- then almost dropped it as Jonathan stumbled into the room behind them. He was doing up his pants and his shirt was open.

“Florence?” he said weakly. “Lewis!” he cried, then staggered over to the boy. Lewis was sobbing and mumbling about how happy he was to see his Uncle. He was talking total nonsense as he threw his arms around Jonathan. But Florence managed to find her voice and say: “You’re alive? But how!”

“The clock’s gears came apart. I think it’s undoing whatever it did before, since the spell was compromised,” he said. “Was there a binding spell on it? Are they-“

‘He died again!” Lewis interrupted.

“There must have been a binder on the clock, so it died with them,” Mrs. Zimmerman said in agreement. “We saw him and Selena both get killed, and if they had returned, they’d let us know how angry they were.”

“Providence saves our asses again,” Jonathan said, sighing in disbelief.

“Love saved our asses,” Florence said softly. She patted Lewis’s back. “Lewis, you were magnificent. You should have seen it, Jonathan.”

‘Aw, you were the best, Mrs. Zimmerman,” the boy said, wiping his nose with his hand. “I did everything you guys showed me. I couldn’t have done it without your help! Oh, Uncle Jonathan? Isaac and Selena said they wanted to take me with them,” he said nervously, as Jonathan craned his head forward. “They wanted to adopt me. I told them no way.”

“Good call,” Jonathan said wryly.

“No, I mean if I can’t have my first family, I would still pick you two every time,” Lewis said. “I really mean it.” He looked at the two adults who had come to care so much for him and smiled.

“That means a lot, kiddo,” Jonathan said softly.

“We’d do the same for you,” Mrs. Zimmerman said. Jonathan nodded and squeezed her hand.

THE END

Author’s notes:

Rosina, the little girl they meet, is in fact based on my grandmother. She really did go to a camp like the one in the story, she really did have a doll like the one I describe, and her age is the age she would have been in real life. The doll is named Emma after my cousin, her great-niece.

Byron is based on an actual person I know, who is very irritating.

Mrs. Hanchett doesn’t have a first name, so I gave her the name of my friend who first showed me “Clue” and dressed as Colleen Camp’s character Yvette for Halloween when we were little kids.

The Order of Iranon, Henry Armitage, the “Old Ones” and the Necronomicon are all references to H.P. Lovecraft, who really was a racist piece of shit like the guy who founded the Order in my story. Much of their ideology comes from the author/person who really scares me but is a good writer Thomas Ligotti.

Selena uses a Hand of Glory in the original book, so I decided to give it back to her.

How old everyone is when the events of the film take place:

Isaac- 55 (He was away at age 42. He was 32 when he met Florence.) 

Florence: 47 (Was 24 when she met J and I in 1931, 34 when she lost her daughter. Her hair turned gray because of what happened to her during the war) 

Jonathan: 45 (He’s 22 when he meets Florence) 

Rachel, Jonathan’s sister/Lewis’s mother: 39 at time of death (She was 12 when Jonathan was 18 and left home)

Selena: 40 (She married Isaac when she was 35)


End file.
